Don't you want to try to die?
by jhalya
Summary: Who would turn down another chance at life? She tried...a small, blonde woman whose scars tell the story of sacrifice. Riddick/Fry, Predator crossover. CH 18-26, The Underverse: He came, He saw, He killed! CH 27-CH34: The world we return to...
1. Chapter 1 Don't you want to try to die?

Title: Don't you want to try to die?

Author: jhalya

Rating: PG 13 and a bar of soap, for foul language and even fouler grammar

Disclaimer: Apparently, merely adding a disclaimer that says fiction is not enough...so: I Own Nothing, except the voice in my head...

Author's Notes: This story came to me after watching Pitch Black way too many times. Than I went into a sort of fan fiction frenzy and decided to give the voice in my head a chance. Little did I know that there were other creatures lurking in there as well: predators, aliens...The plot is still raw and it will probably take some time before it makes some sense, but bear with me, I'm new at this. Hope you enjoy a little mystery!

Feedback: "There is no failure...only feedback"

Deep Space...it's the shit-bucket of the Universe! Some say it's just beyond the Border. But what do their sorry asses know? There's no left or right, above or beyond...Deep Space is just in the middle of freakin' nowhere...farther away from any known sentient settlement. Most people don't know, half don't believe, the rest just don't give a shit...believe me, ignorance is the mother of all bliss! No one has seen it...not your average 'verse dweller, anyway...no...Deep space comes to you...with blood and pain.

So this is my story: smuggler, caught, convict, escaped, crashed, died...and ended up here. Had the dubious luck of being picked up by a real tuned-up ship with some real crafty recovery-job meditations...surreal, huh? They patched me up, took away the hurt - shattered rib cage, perforated lungs if you can imagine - and left the pain. Apparently, these mofos have never heard of anesthetics before. I learned real quick to butch up and stay the fuck quiet...my new crew didn't appreciate bitchin'...Well, the verdict was in: Gustav 'Gus' Horner was officially dead to the 'verse and born to the darkness of Deep Space. This is where I am now, and it seems to be...as far as an eternity.

It's been five years...shit, I've never gotten used to count time Deep Space style. Naw, still cling to your usual timer. It's all the same anyway...well, in five years, I've seen and done unbefreakingleavable things...

_Wanna find out?_


	2. Chapter 2 Purple Sky

It was cold and raining... who would have guessed what was going to happen later on that evening? Maybe if they had only taken a look at the purple sky...

But the sky is always fuckin' purple...like a drowned man's face...or like...well, when you choke the life out of someone, their face takes a purple tinge that looks much like the sky does in this God forsaken place...

Shit, I'm sidesteppin' the important story here...ok, ok, back on track...  
So, it was raining leeches and maggots...and the cold had a nasty bite...it's was all foreboding shit...the evening always brings rain here, on this border-line planet...but I didn't give a flying turd...evening brought customers...and not your average "glass of piss" type...naw, people like me, tryin' to make a livin' in Deep Space..._smugglers..._

_The Creed_ was an established joint for those looking for a little bootleggin'...I traded in goods and information...why bother hijacking transports when all I needed to know was the freighters route and jumping points...as for goods, behind the _Creed's_ closed doors lay anything from booze and grooming appliances to weapons and Rygelian dynamite (the serious shit, that would make C4 look like Christmas fireworks). The cover wasn't half that bad either...it took care of the more basic needs...eat, drink, piss, shit, fuck...it was a busy place...but most of all...it was a thou–shall-not-get-trigger-happy-in-here sort of establishment...you know, neutrality...

Everything went smooth that day...had myself a few good deals...I was feeling fuckin' giddy, when shit went through the roof...the sky had taken on that purple tinge that reminded me of death...hadn't X-ed out a guy in nearly 2 years...cuts and bruises, sure...even beat a guy to a coma...but that don't mean much out here...even a shady rec-job will take care of that. So, one moment I was all happy and shit...the next...I was staring at two violently blue eyes underneath a baseball cap...

_Fuck! Wraiths!_ We had all heard of them...the enforcers of order...'cause you see, things weren't always like this in Deep Space. There is only one dominant species in here: the Yautja , ugly motherfuckers. Their empire is Deep Space, their technology build the rec med stations...and they were like "As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I just realized I am the meanest, baddest motherfucker around, so all you fuckin' pansies can decorate my mantel piece". They killed, they hunted...a LOT. They even crossed over in the Universe, with the help of some crafty stealth tech. They have the largest species database of All Time...and I am not fucking with you...they know everything about everyone. _Silent watchers._ I call'em psycho-fuck killers...with horns!  
Does that make them horny?

Sorry 'bout that...couldn't help myself...well, one bright day they realized that killing or slaving out kinda gets boring after a couple of thousands of years, not to mention it's the mother of all headaches, so they changed their tactics...they sought out specific individuals...survivors, jacks of all trades like myself...and sort of employed them...if the universe don't need us , there is always a place in Deep Space...Hell, I think the devil said something like that to God over coffee one day...only there is no God out here...there are only the Wraiths...they ride the hunter vessel known as the Kumary. When things get tight between settlements (I know about five in DS), or when some asshole of a species wanna challenge the supremacy of the Empire, they show up and kick some rear ends, while the Preds are all happy-hunting and shit. To make a long story short, they're the boogie man of DS.

And now they were in my joint...how does that go...of all the gin joints in all the world...  
the wraith moved fluidly towards me...  
"Nice place you got here" a woman's voice with a hint of an accent. Sounded like she hadn't felt the need to speak above a whisper in years. Glimpse of ghosty blonde hair underneath her cap. Cut short, but not boyish...naw, like someone who spends their life roaming DS in a ship. I figured maybe she was a pilot or somethin' . She noticed me ogling her, so she stamped her ungloved hand on the counter. I felt the thump in my throat, for fuck's sake.  
"So, what's on the menu tonight?" she held me in such an intense gaze, I had to look away. Her hand caught my eye...it was small and whitish...like the hands of a fair-skin blonde ought to be...but something was wrong. It all went downhill from there...I saw it...the texture of her hand...looked like it had been burned, cut, scarred repeatedly...I knew it right away...it was a rec-job...fuck! Multiple rec-jobs! I started to pant, shiver, sweat, all in the same time! She hadn't even batted an eyelash...not that I could see from underneath her cap. _Get a freakin' grip, man!!__  
__"_Scotch is on high demand tonight_"_I stammered. She chuckled and then grinned...a broad grin that almost looked...sad. Another hand thumped on the counter. Had the bar gone silent, cause it sure seemed like she was the only person around.  
"Hmm, how 'bout we try the truth this time?"  
It was at that precise moment I lost control over my vocal cords. The violent blue of her eyes, the sickening purple of the sky...  
"Scotch'll mess with your head...probably shouldn't do that. Some juice then?"  
Fuck, fuck and triple fuck!!! The Wraith spoke smuggler fluently.  
"Ryg juice, if that's the lady's pleasure"  
She glanced around (shit just about everyone was carrying a weapon of some sort) and sighed disappointedly.  
"Such a lot of guns around town and so few brains. You know, that shit'll really _mess_ with your head. Didn't you hear me? I want some juice, fresh and fucking natural". That was the first sign of urgency in her voice I heard all night. My mind was doing flips to figure out what she really wanted. Sure, I was important in this makeshift system of DS, but Wraiths do pretty much as they please...but they always, always have a reason...I screwed something up big time..._your getting soft in the ass, old man! THINK! Put those brain cells to work!!_

Natural juice...natural juice...could she mean...  
"I know just what the lady wants...rounds"  
"Better not be tequila" she countered.  
"Naw, that shit is overrated...UV rounds". The sound of the rain was mingled with the hustle of the bar. I pretended to look for something behind the counter...she didn't fucking flinch...I could've been looking for a gun or somethin'.  
"Well, the lady is out of luck...just finished my last round" I was being ballsy and I knew it.  
"Ain't that a cryin' shame...who ordered it? Maybe he's the sharing type. I feel like making friends"  
_No shit..._

I looked around and spotted my man who was casually sipping some shit. She saw him too. Cold anger swept over her small face that even the cap couldn't hide.  
"Might wanna look away...I'm shy!" and in a flash she was gone leaving me staring at the now empty air she used to occupy. But then she materialized in front of the poor bastard. Even from the distance I could tell he was scared shitless and relying on his peeps blending in the crowd. Strength in numbers. Now that I thought about it, that wasn't normal for a DS dweller. Look to thine own ass policy around here.  
She reached her hand out as to grab him and he fell from his chair. Immediately, his mates showed up and circled the Wraith. A second later they were all dead. I didn't even hear the gun shots, let alone see her move. I just realized it was her when I noticed the gun in her scarred hands. She put it away.  
"Now tell me little boy good, watcha doing? I was sitting here thinking we could be friends and you _try_ to ambush me? Never wise...not in Deep Space"  
Little boy good was loosing it. He was crawling on his back trying to reach for his gun but his hands wouldn't listen.  
"Little boy good, UV rounds got to your head. Your brain went in overdrive...it's going to shut down and cool off. Hmmm...but we still got a few minutes". She bent over him and searched his pockets...  
"So tell me, what's your monkey little boy good? 'Cause you ain't a smuggler and you ain't a local dweller...you're just a merc".  
_Fuck me sideways!!_ I gasped. A freakin' mercenary, as I live and breathe! In Deep fuckin' Space.  
"News flash, little boy good. We ain't got a penal system so we ain't got room for the lights of you!". She had obviously found what she was looking for...his manifest...a good merc always blanks it when he's done reading it, but she punched in a few keys and smiled again. Only this time hate poured out of her.  
"_The creed is greed_" she meant that to be for me. But the Wraith had a point. No mercs allowed in DS. Period. Haters!

His brain did shut down...it just had a little help from the Wraith. And then the Wraith was gone, leaving behind the bodies of a 5 men mercenary crew.

That was my first encounter with the Captain of the Kumary. In years to come, I saw more and more of her. But that is another story to tell...


	3. Chapter 3 Being one with the stars

Being one with the stars

The lights were out for the night. I wanted to be one with the stars, but I couldn't and it made me angry. The Moon suddenly opened its eye and blinked along with me. Something was happening inside ...

...was I tempted to go and find out what? Hell yeah...but you know what they say, curiosity killed the cat. Cats are extinct in Deep Space. I don't wanna go extinct. I just want to be one with the stars...eternal and bright. I now felt the anger the Wraith must have felt at the sight of that merc...but from entirely different reasons. Or were they?? I mean the reasons... You are not born a Wraith...she must have had a life once, must have been loved, even loved back, looked at the stars or flown among them...the Moon looked at me in disbelief and blinked again. Watcha bitchin' about? I cleaned the mess, got rid of the bodies, little boy good gone bye-bye...wiped the blood off the floor of my joint. It's clean now...clean and empty...gonna take some time before people show up again...business gonna go slow...no flow... so stow it! The Moon must be a woman, I thought to myself, utterly impractical.

While I was ranting at the little Moon where the methane breathers dwelt, the muffled noise within the storage house across the market reached my sensitive ears...the night of retribution had begun...I learned a long time ago, while I was taking the grand tour of the Slam cities, to smell blood shed within a span of 15 minutes. Must be getting old, 'cause it was only after I had disposed of the bodies (what are recyclers for?), that I could sense the heavy air all around me...even the noise outside, in the market, the hustle and bustle of people scurrying around like packs of rats, was strangely silent. Then voices started reaching those high-pitched tones people use when their trying to cover something. It could only mean one thing...Wraiths were out for blood...lucky for me, I was moping off mine...didn't plan on having Wraiths comin' back for another courtesy visit...

_Stupid, stupid fuck!! You spent a good deal of your life in a freakin' slam and another good part of it on the run, with mercs on your ass! _Now, don't go on thinking I was one of those high-rollers with a fuck load of credits on their heads, but I got my share of haters. _You should be able to tell a smuggler from a merc! _Fuck me if I could! That lil' boy good got me going for a while...alright, alright...he got me going all the way...shit if I saw it coming.

Mercs don't _do_ DS. Not only that, but they're X-ed out on the spot. It's a "shoot first, talk later" policy when it comes to that. The Wraith put up that elaborated show just for me...as a lesson...or a warning. The reason? She said it herself...we ain't got a penal system. In Deep Space law says it's survival of the fittest. You become the hunted. Outsmart or kill your hunters, and you're back in the system. For all I know, they'll even give you some sort of an award, with a freakin' ribbon attached to it. But these guys...they not only rode Deep Space, they knew exactly where to come for the right shit. UV rounds...figured they'd be needing it for a little bit of sport. Plenty of species phobic to light around here. But they were on the hunt for somethin' else...only the Wraith knows...she read the manifest. Now, she'll track down home base - she already did that, by the sound of it - and then the Kumary will ride out and seek the gate-openers, the ones who let the mercs in, in the first place. Cause, it all goes down like this: sure, we trade outside DS...even the Kumary does that...going across the frontier, taking people on board, dropping them off, no questions asked...that's how we learn shit. People talk, we listen and then tip others off. Always have the upper hand. But, never, never, let anyone in. Fuck their minds, not their lives. Like I said, Deep Space comes to you. This is how the balance is kept, because, make no mistake, Deep Space holds the balance of the Universe!

So, somebody is trying to screw us over...interesting...I've heard, that a couple of years before I ended up here, before the Wraiths laid down the law, slave traders had ruled the land, so to speak...in full agreement with the horny devils, the Yautja. The predators, as people called them, didn't much care, as long as there was game in the 'verse. But they started caring when civil wars began to rip the settlements apart. Some guvernators couldn't face the situation, so they became an easy target for the rest of them who sought expansion. In a nutshell, Deep Space was a war zone. Rec med stations couldn't keep up with the amount of wounded, and the Empire was beginning to loose labor force. The Big Sleep, as slaves called it, had come to an end. People were genuinely trying to die, rather than live on in slavery to the recovery jobs. It was the great quest for afterlife.

And then something happened. The Kumary and her crew of Wraiths swept through Deep Space, killing everything that had the balls of getting in the way of the process. Order was enforced. The case of slaves was pleaded before the Yautja High Council. Settlements were given autonomy under the protection of the Empire. The recovery technology was available only to those who enrolled in WS (Wraith Squads - there were about 2 or 3, but the Kumary was the most famous one). Chop doctors used only a low-tech version of the recovery job. Business flourished. The Empire left DS dwellers alone, and the Wraiths took over the job of keeping the Universe away from Deep Space, and Deep Space away from the Universe. The happy ending!

So, where do I fit in?? Living in the gutter, but looking at the stars... the lights were out for the night. The rain had stopped, but the cold was chilling to the bone. The stars were fucking with me, boastful of their beauty, of their immortality. The Moon was blinking, in a mock imitation of...me. I was old, old beyond my years. I heaved a deep sigh and looked across the market, towards the storage house. The home base was destroyed...it was slowly burning...flames licking at its walls. I had pilfered a cake from the kitchen earlier...it had a green toping...a green cake ...I swallowed it whole...uhmmmm...minty...took away the copperish taste of blood...

No sooner had I finished my pilfered cake, than I saw a figure looming against the now blazing fire. She walked slowly towards me. I sat frozen on the threshold of my joint. Fuck! Here we go again.

The wraith actually took the time to walk the entire length of the market, never taking her eyes of me. Finally, we were facing each other. Only this time, she did not look so ethereal...she had blood on her hands that she did not bother to rub off. I had the distinct impression she was processing me...figuring out my life before DS. If only I could do the same thing...

"Wanna tell me about the merc now?"  
Didn't I tell you folks?? Shoot first, talk later. I was in the hot seat! Fucking pansy, I remember cursing at the little boy good, it's always the idiots that get you in trouble.

"Come on in, and I'll tell you all you need to know"


	4. Chapter 4 Want to rejoin the human race?

**A/N: Saddest words in the Universe: "no reviews"... 147 hits and no reviews??? Man, do I suck that much?? Just tell me and I'll stop using up space around here...I won't continue until I get one review...just _one_!!! **

Want to rejoin the human race?

I remember it like it was yesterday...tired of waiting I was, tired of imagining all sorts of ways I could die by the little scorched hands of the Wraith. For little they were indeed, but how powerful!

She led the way inside the _Creed_, turning her back on me, like I hadn't killed a score of people in my time...like I hadn't done time for it either. So fearless...I was impressed. But I followed her warily nonetheless.

I had heard many tall tales about these Wraiths...how they could vanish in the blink of an eye...how merciless they were...how cold...I could relate to that...I felt this cold...she made me feel it, the Captain of the Kumary...deep inside a soul I thought I never had...all profanities froze in my mouth...

The Wraith looked at me with her violent blue eyes from underneath her cap. Figured she'd pass for a ghost...small frame, pale skin, fair hair...a deceitful appearance...one that hid immense sorrow. After all the years I had spent in various slams across the universe, I learned how to sometimes glimpse behind the facade. There was definitely sorrow behind those big blue eyes, but it didn't say much, it didn't give me an opening, nothing I could use to my advantage.

''You did time in the UPS?'' she asked matter-of-factly. Damn, she's good!  
''Why do you ask?" So much for my search of an opening.  
Apart from a shadow of an accent, imagine that the next few lines are spoken devoid of all feeling.  
"They don't charge smugglers like they mean it, even if they X out a few people. The system needs their connections, so they cut a deal." She looked around at the empty bar, sighing ever so slightly.  
"Probably did a sweeping job...clean out the mess after a fight-orgy."  
''Tell me, how does a Deep Space Wraith know so much about the Universal Penal System?" I was really interested. I was pretty sure she hadn't set foot in a prison compound before, but she knew more than I did. Fuckin' annoying! If you don't mind my French...

She smiled a genuine smile that seemed to brighten up her features, even underneath that all-black outfit of hers. Than the sadness...  
"How indeed..." She paced the floor, turned away from me, than said over her shoulder.  
"_The Creed_ is a useful joint...even if it trades in merchandise a lil' to liberal for the Empire not to mind...but this sector of DS is solely under the watch of the Kumary. I vouched for you...so if I choose to show trust, you should choose not to let me down."  
"I didn't realize it until it was too late..." but the argument died in my throat.  
She stared me down with a look of disappointment I will never forget.  
"Then you deserve to die"

She was a good 10 paces in front of me. The next moment, her gun grazed my forehead. She was so close I could feel her breathing down my cheek. Then I felt the tip of a blade flirting with my abdominal aorta as her left arm circled around me.  
"How would you like to die? Like a DS dweller or like an ex-convict who got his ass handed to him in slam?" her voice had a metallic sound to it. Please try to imagine a 98 pound woman with a metallic voice...if you can, it means that I haven't lost my minds, even after all this time.

I sweated fear...it dripped from every pore...I could hear my teeth clinging in my mouth...I was paralyzed...my voice came out differently, unwillingly...how can you be paralyzed and still be shaking in the same time?  
"I...don't...want...to...die"  
She backed off...I collapsed onto the floor...leaning back and forth...back and forth...cradling my head...  
"God forgive me, please God forgive me". For the first time since I was about five, for the first time in over 40 years, I began to cry, feeling hot tears trickling down my cheek. What no slam, no enemy, no man had ever made me do, a small blonde Wraith had forced down on me in less than five minutes. She had reduced me to nothing.  
"Don't you say that again...because I might just arrange the meeting"

"Is there no humanity left in you?" I cried feeling the salty tears mixing with my saliva.  
She scoffed. She looked down at me, her frame illuminated by the pale lights in the bar. A kaleidoscope of emotions shone in her features, so many that it didn't matter. She walked by me. She was gone.

I often thought about the silence of the Wraith...why she didn't answer my question...then it downed on me...  
...she had let me live...


	5. Chapter 5 I Am That Good

**A/N: Thank you FitMama for the kind review. I am getting to the merging of the 'verses point, but it has to be believable. Hopefully 2 weeks away from school will be productive in this way. Enjoy!**

I Am That Good

You know how they say that old age is the only disease that you don't look forward to being cured of? Must be true for 'verse dwellers, cause down here, in Deep Space, it's a motherfuckin' nuisance...soon I'll be wearing glasses ...GLASSES!!!

I sigh audibly, even for the crowded hall of the Creed. It's a busy night and a rather refined bunch...meaning they'll probably buy you a drink before royally fucking you over to the highest bidder...and God is financially troubled these days...

But then again, I could be wrong...there's a strange vibe going on...like people are just here to hang out, for a change...curious...

Ronnie just hurried by me...I know she's late, but I'm too bored to give her a lecture...That child's gonna end up the poster girl for the MWI. Don't know what that means? Stick around for a year or less and you'll find out. Dangling a tray of beverages on one hand she gives me the eye. I raise my eyebrows and decide against the mother of all beatings I was dead set on giving the disobedient wretch. She's gonna screw up her life without my help anyway. I watch the hungry looks she's receiving. I'll probably have to split some arteries later in the evening or maybe she'll do it herself...somehow my train of thoughts is slower tonight...I ponder on that for a while...

Ok, so I lied...I am not the meditating type...I just stared at the floor for a while...about two hours or so...

''...listenin' to a thing I'm sayin'?" Ronnie bellows in my ear.  
''I am now...got anything interesting to say?" is all the smartass response I can conjure.  
She puffs her bangs and storms to the kitchen area. All that is left of my clients are either dead or dead drunk. In the corner table someone is playing with an empty glass.

There is noise coming from the kitchen. _Wham_...'the idiot'..._bang_ 'he always does'..._bang, bang, wham._.. Shalimar exits meticulously rubbing her hands with a towel...you can tell she used to be a doctor. She smiles sympathetically at me, with immense faith in her chocolate eyes:  
"God will do the best for her". She can still speak of God in DS and mean it.  
" We are not doubting that" someone has just stopped playing with their glass.  
"We are just wondering how painful the best will turn out to be."

"Ah, so a Wraith does care for other people's lives", Shalimar says looking fondly at the blonde stranger.  
"Of course...because most of the times I...end...them".

Over the years, feelings other than sorrow crept over the Captain's little face: disappointment was the head of the list. It made me think how little I knew of her and her logic. Visits such as these were now frequent. After the recovery jobs began endangering her life, the Wraith was assigned to a brilliant doctor, instead of the inhuman med labs of the predators. Shalimar became a part of the system.

Lost in thoughts of my blonde acquaintance, I am vigorously ignored.

Captain is now looking at the Muslim woman and asks bitterly:  
"What's up, doc?"  
''The usual...Putting up with Veronica's tantrums and providing a decent cover for Gus. Have you been hunting any monsters in the Barrens? I'm starting to feel pretty useless over here...'' the doc says scanning for some fresh injuries.

The Wraith stops. I can see her shoulders sagging. Hers is a heart-wrenching pain. Rec jobs will to that to you. But it's not the pain in her skin that's the problem. It's the one in her soul. Rumors speed across Deep Space...The Long Retribution...the entire merc base in the Lupus system and the slave traders' network destroyed. Bodies lying dead on the streets, in their hidings, in bars...drifting in space on now silent vessels...all of them killed...body count unknown...impossible to determine... The wrath of a Wraith knows no limits.

Her voice sort of trails off…

"The Great One is summoning all hunter vessels to the _Jag'd'ja atoll_."

A summoning…Ka'rik'na…to the Mothership, no less. This snaps me out of my contemplative mood. So, the predators are organizing a hunting party…most likely. It strikes me as strange: predators are creatures of habit. The baptism of blood for little Yautja pups is an important ritual, meticulously prepared in advance. Any sign of urgency, especially from an Elder such as the Great One, is not a good sign in Deep Space. Not for us, mere mortals, anyway.

The Wraith looks at me intently. Sometimes she looks so much like a broken doll that it warms up something inside me I never knew it was cold. Bleah, how mushy is that? It's the age thing, I'm tellin' you.

"Now, why do you think he would do something like that?"

_He_? That's an _It_, if there ever was one.

"Dunno. Maybe _it_ misses you." I shrug it off. I just hate it when she knows I know that she knows I know something. And I don't know much really…

Shalimar has conveniently leaved the room. _Traitor._

"Why is it that every time I ask you a question, I have to pull teeth to get a straight answer?"

Man, I could actually win this argument; she's too tired to fight. I chuckle lightly, and she glares at me. In the depths of those big blue eyes of hers that stare so impatiently at me, I can see that even though _the Wraith _refuses to acknowledge the reason for this summoning, _my Carolyn_ knows, like she always does. I don't know how that is, but she just does. (And if you're wanderin' how I got to know her name, well…_I Am That Good_.)

I fill myself a glass of scotch and start talking:

"Well, apparently, things aren't so peachy back in the 'Verse. Couple a months ago, shipments went missing and the ones that did return came back empty handed…said something' had hit the delivery addresses and the rest of the planets along with them. When Tyl, of the Great-Hunter-of-shit's bloodline, returned from a hunt, saying there was nothing _to hunt_, because the Grounds had suddenly gone devoid of life, the Elder sent The Trinian Wraith Vessel to investigate, seeing as the Kumary was busy somewhere else."

That was not really the reason the Elder sent the Trinian and not the Kumary. But I wasn't going to spoil the surprise for her. Figure if she looses it on the Mothership, maybe the preds will meet the same faith as the mercs on Lupus. Either way, someone is going to pay. She doesn't like to be made a fool of.

"Guess that Lou is ready to hand in his report" I say with the most innocent looking face I can pull.

She's about to say something that is going to hurt me when Ronnie storms out of the kitchen area.

"So, you're back from the Barrens, huh?" Ronnie spits out the words. She has abandonment issues…among other things that are wrong with her.

"Do us all a favor kid...try to grow a brain. It ain't that fuckin' hard. Most people do it naturally."  
"Stop calling me that! I have a fucking name!" Frustration and anger and stupidity get the better of Ronnie.  
"Is that right!" There is sarcasm in the Wraith's voice, but there is also hurt. Not a good moment to pick a fight with her. I kinda feel sorry for the poor kid. She's going to take a good bashing for my petty hind…Eaahhh, fuck it!

"You know what you are, Ronnie? You're just a fucked-up, under-aged wanna-be with a bad hair day! That's what you are! Act like a merc, smell like a whore, die like an idiot!"

MWI…I never heard the Captain's voice above a whisper, not once in all the years I've known her…I now pray I never will, again.

She stops, wide-eyed with shock…not Ronnie…for a moment it feels for her like it feels for me…

For a moment there, it felt like she was talking to _someone else_…

**  
**


	6. Chapter 6 There is always a story

**A/N:**

**To DRL: Thank you! I'll keep going, if you keep reading;)**

**To iwandamonian: I DID?? Damn it, I can't remember the scene and it's not like I haven't seen that movie like 5 times already...(blushing)...well, in that case, I probably shouldn't tell you about the lines from _Man on fire,_ _Citizen Kane,_ _Pitch Black _and _TcoR..._I am sooo naughty...I will pray hard and hope to be redeemed from the plagiarism hell**** guarded by righteous teachers and their stupid rule books (evil grin)**

There is always a story

There is a story…about a human. A _Pyode Amedha._ The fourth _Soft Meat _ever to have survived an encounter with a warring Yautja. The second female who has ever received a Hunter Mark. The only human ever accepted as an equal in the predator community. A female Young Blood. Some say it is because she fought alongside a Yautja Elder. Others say it is because she helped a Child Bearer to deliver her pup in safety. Hunting legends are sometimes as unreliable in the Pred world as fishermen's tales are in the human settlements. The truth is much more prosaic than that…much more painful than anyone could ever imagine. And a whole lot crueler. I should know…I was there.

I've been Captain of the Wraith Vessel Trinian for over 10 standard years now. The 12th in an honorable line of Order Enforcers. You'd think I was proud. But such bloody honor I could've lived without. My ancestors left human dominated space centuries ago. Since then we have learned to bend the rules of morality without much regret. Most of the times, in order to survive in Deep Space, humanity must be put in hibernation. It was this adaptability of ours that led our rulers into accepting a deal with the Yautja Empire. It started innocently enough…the Bad Blood among our kind – unlawful individuals - were used as hosts for parasitic alien life forms and handed over to the preds for a lil' bit of sport. In exchange, access to their technology was provided and we were allowed to tag along on some of their hunting parties. A darker version of exploring strange new worlds.

As my father had done, and his father before him and so on for over 200 years, I took up the job on the Trinian, forever on the lookout for new hunts, serving the Empire as best I could. This way, you learn not to flinch when you see a Pred rip a creature's spine out while warm blood is trickling down his hands. And that is the easiest thing to stomach… But that which I witnessed 5 years ago was beyond anything I could endure. It appears now that my actions then may have – already - had unforeseen consequences.

I should not get ahead of myself…this story must make more sense than the one I told that smugglin' con that watches over my sister (Note to Self: remember to check on Ronnie, make badass-brother-appearance, look shocked at her behavior, bleed her, hand her over to a pack of wargs, get her in recovery and repeat the process until she fuckin' gets it through her thick skull that there is a thin line between being ballsy and being galactically stupid, attempt brotherly affection, make badass-brother-exit). I still don't know why I told him the story in the first place. The Kumary had been sent to the Barrens and I had just received my orders to investigate the commotion in the 'Verse. It was late in the evening, I was missing my baby – the nav officer on the Kumary - , Ronnie was nagging me about something, as she usually does and has been doing ever since we were children, and Gus was looking sympathetically at me. Hadn't told him she would be staying…yet… Guess it came as a sort of a shock to him. I had to do something to distract his attention. Wasn't that hard either…_The Creed_ had become the Kumary home base, there was no secret there. It was about time Gus learned a tad bit more about the small blonde woman who kept such a close eye on the little planet. And this is how it began…

"Five years ago, Deep Space was a war zone. Settlements were fighting amongst each other, while, in the background, the Slave War was raging on. My father's dominion was weakened. Help had to be sought. We had tried everything, but nothing turned out as planned. There was one option left: an appeal to one of the leading Yautja clans that had been in close contact with my family. But this was no easy task: what had we to give in exchange of their help that we had not already offered? A hunt, I thought, one like no other. And I knew just the right planet, just the right species. The timing was right, as well, in more ways that I could have ever imagined.

The Great One heard my plea and was satisfied with it. One of his own bloodline was due to receive his baptism as a true Yautja Hunter. We boarded a_Man'daca_, I, D'jai Lya, my second in command, The Great One, with two of his kin and the Unblooded young one, Tyl. Our destination: a remote system , just outside the Borders of Deep Space, near the all-too-human-Sol-track-shipping-lanes. Too close as it turned out to be.

Bloodlust was in the air. Even the Elder, supposedly bored with the hunt (really, after thousands of hunt parties, a Yautja Elder gets to try almost everything), was eager with anticipation. Only once in 22 years did one get the chance to face the vicious Hammerheads. The Great One was what you would call a traditionalist: in order to prove his worthiness, Tyl would be sent down armed with the clan's trademark blades only, the Hunt would be underground, and to make things more interesting, there was to be a contest, between us, humans, and the young predator. It was a bonafide killing spree, cleverly disguised as a hunt. You'd be surprised to know the things I'd do to keep the reign of my family strong. But I never got to do this one particular thing, not the way I intended to…

Someone beat us to it… The readings we got were conclusive…Comet residue, ship wreckage on the surface, alien biosigns, some expired, others still alive. All human…or nearly so. By the time we finished receiving the reports, two more humans died. Seven left. I was beyond myself with impatience. I wished they would ALL die already so we could go on with our hunt and I could get the help the Elder promised. But something that I did not take into account took place. There is one thing the Preds enjoy sometimes even more than a hunt. A chance to experience first hand how species different of their own battle for survival. For the Great One, at least, this was a unique and sacred moment. I swear I could see him overflowing with respect. Tyl was only seething with jealousy. The truth was, they weren't doing that bad, the shipwrecked band, as even I could tell, when I bothered to look. Lya had turned away in disgust. She had a lingering respect for humanity and our watching and doing nothing while those poor souls down there were being torn apart by flesh eating bioraptors was going against her every principle.

One in particular had piqued the Yautja's interest, at first because of a certain similarity –his ability to see in the dark – and then by his skills. They watched his…_performance_…most closely. To satisfy their curiosity, we even risked a cloaked landing. The Elder was most adamant about this. Human psychology fascinates him, I suspect. It is the only reasonable motive I can come up with to justify his actions.

The climax was approaching fast. Only four left, and one was on the point of leaving everyone else to their untimely and, somewhat premeditated, deaths. This, I must admit, jarred the Great One's blossoming esteem. But it sure made a hell of a lot more sense to me. Yautja are very stick-in-the-mud when it comes to matters of honor. The greatest surprise, however, was not the man's sudden change of mind, but the element that brought it on. Even I was shaken by it…

I'm sure that to the mind of the predators, it all made sense: a male Bad Blood is trying to corrupt a female, who in response, becomes territorial and refuses to leave her charges behind. A fight ensues, the slender, lesser individual loses the upper-hand granted by a surprise attack (and a mighty good one at that) to the more experienced and heavily-built male, and bargains her way out of a-decapitation-gone-wrong by offering what one has most sacred: her life. The charges are retrieved – an old man and a child - , the Bad Blood fights the monsters to the death in an attempt to regain his lost honor, allowing the female to lead her charges to safety. It seemed a scenario taken out of a Yautja fireside story.

What happened next was nothing like a Yautja fireside story. The woman, called Carolyn, or Fry, did not go aboard the little skiff with the defenseless old man and child, even as they pleaded with her. She returned to the aid of the lone warrior, who had outmaneuvered two attacking Hammerheads rather bravely and cunningly, but who was now left with a wound that would have inevitably claimed his life. But the relentless woman got to him in time. _He_ was also_ her charge_. His death was not included in the terms of their bargain. She said so herself: _I said I'd die for them, not you._ The Yautja cocked their heads, even the hot-tempered Tyl. They were proud to witness this. The only thoughts that were running through my mind were: _They are going to make it. After all of the darkness and sadness and death, they are going to pull through. Their humanity restored, their sins washed by the alien rain. They are survivors._ I jumped to conclusions too fast. As I watched their clumsy dancing in the rain – that waif of a woman trying to support a bear of a man - I but closed my eyes for a second, in relief…

…just….one….second…and she was gone…ripped from the bewildered man's arms, carried away by the winged-demon…in utter silence….he was the one screaming something eminently useless and untrue…Nevertheless, he pushed himself back up…he, now, had the resemblance of a purpose in mind.

As for me and Lya, neither of us was thinking…we just… reacted and ran like crazy, under the protection of the invisibility cloak, which was foolish of us since the cloak was many things, but not waterproof. But somehow a plasma gun materialized in my hand…the damn raptor-thing shrieked and the poor creature in its claws plopped to the ground. Lya cursed in her native language and killed as many of the beasts as she could in order to keep it away from the blood feast. I do not know how long it was. Many more died when the skiff took off. Apparently the human-but-not-quite-so male was blowing off some steam…

Then we heard it…the heavy footfalls of the Yautja party. Hammerheads were dying around us by the dozens, taken out by Tyl…Males of every race are competitive and rash like that. The Elder bowed over the dying female who had sacrificed her life in order to save a Bad Blood of all things. But a sacrifice was a sacrifice and I suspect the Great One did not stop to ponder the nuances of the matter when he picked up her disintegrating body and carried her to the _Man'daca_. Some sort of plan he must have formed in his twisted predator mind, because after he personally consigned the human woman to the recovery med lab on the ship, he hissed in the language I was now familiar with: _Nan'ku…Nan'ku…_ Alive, alive, she was alive…"

This is how the story ends…at least this is what I told Gus…The recovery was long and extremely painful. I believe that being killed by those blood-hungry beasts would have been less traumatizing. The truth is I do not know a lot more myself…The Elder was true to his word and I was caught up once more in business of war. Lya was the one who tended the wounded female, whose name would never be spoken again, never above a whisper and perhaps only in thoughts. She was Scar Back to the Yautja, Captain of the Kumary to the 'verse, Wraith to Deep Space.

Carolyn Fry had died on that planet. But now, as I look at the faint outline of her cloaked figure stepping cautiously on the deck of the Mothership, I begin to realize_ that no one ever told her that…_


	7. Chapter 7 Clash Of Wills

**A/N: Thank you Ela and Opah for the wonderful reviews. You definitely made my day:)**

**As for this chapter, it was something I had been carrying in my mind for a long time. So, I decided to insert it here to counter-balance what is to come. (truth is, I just like playing with multiple points of view;)) Enjoy! **

Clash of Wills

_We do not pray to God, we pray to no God…Elementals…we calculate!_

'Tis the belief that governs our every action…our every thought…all of us who are dedicated to the Path of Logic are attuned with the building blocks of the Universe: fire, water, earth…air, in _perfect balance_: water quenches fire, fire boils water, earth contains air, air erodes earth. _Balance is everything to Elementals._ We speak of neutrality, but even as a mistress of Logic, it is not unfamiliar to me how the actions of man can be…predicted, and thus guided to a desired effect.

My task, began more than 30 years ago, is now complete. It is time for a new equation to be devised. Of course, it would help to be in less troubled, quieter place than the great halls of Necropolis. But I will not make that mistake again. In 30 years, I have disciplined my mind in a fashion not different from the Convert Way: learn how to lessen one pain through another. It helps that I am a Sylph among my kind…I can easily transport myself from one place to another. It is a drafty place, this Necromonger ship, it eases the transition. I suppose it also helps that the Lord Marshall has ordered the removal of the chains that bound me to solidity. _The Lord Marshall…_Now what would be the odds of that? My light chuckle echoes nonetheless through the empty corridors where I find myself walking in a rather humanly fashion. I have no recollection of these walls. It is strangely dark here, no vile whispers, no talk of treachery, no prying eyes. It appears that I am alone in one of the old wings of Necropolis, deserted when one or another of the Lord Marshalls build an addition to the ship.

Good. It has been months since I craved one moment of peace to continue my calculations. Every time I attempted to form an equation in my mind, something has stopped me from doing so. Now there is no noise to jar my concentration and deflect my train of thoughts. I can see the elements in front of my eyes, forming an intricate pattern that will translate an equation and dictate the course of action. The pain that resonates through my body as I use my will to carefully arrange the variables in such an order as to make irrefutable sense _and serve the purpose in the same time, _is almost sweet…

A sharp pang knocks the breath out of me. The mathematical design I had conjured up all but disintegrates. What could this mean? I quickly search for the flaw in my calculations but it eludes me. It is as if there are other forces at work and they are working against my logic. The Necromongers? The Vaakos? No, that variable has been taken into account. Other suitors to the throne? That too I have been careful to introduce in my equation. Every contingency planned…my calculations are flawless…and yet the equation is falling apart. Frustration takes hold of me. _Balance must be sought...Elementals calculate the Balance in the Universe... a new Balance must be found… another kind of evil._

These are words I have spoken to the Helion Prime leaders. Each word had been chosen with great care in order to obtain the desired result. And it came…to me, in the guise of an Arab man speaking of a male child with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. But such knowledge as he possessed was not what stroke me as odd. Life is beyond chance. It is mathematically complex. This man, by all intents and purposes of Logic, was not supposed to be here. And yet in the equation that translated his existence there was an _unknown variable_ that permitted him to tell such a story, nay, that allowed him to know such a story. Caught in the realization of what he was saying to me, I ignored it. It wasn't until later that I witnessed it again. In the rogue child Vaako brought to the Lord Marshall. The same feeling overcame me. Her life was entwined with the same unknown variable. She had severed the bounds, the unruly lost child, but the effect persisted. A second time it escaped my attention.

I try to reformulate, to encapsulate this unknown variable, but the design escapes my will. A different course is being plotted before me. Somewhere, someone in this vast Universe has triggered a sequence of effects I have failed to calculate. Someone, somewhere, is forming a decision that could alter all our devised plans: mine, the Necromongers', perhaps even Riddick's. And the will that watches over this process is beyond my influence and, most importantly, beyond my strength. It is as alien to me, as I am to it. This unnerves me. Apparently there are many things that I am not aware of, details that compose a minor calculation that I have wrongfully deemed of no great consequence…but none now live that could tell me about the variables that could bring three people, a Holy man, a confused child and a convicted murder, together. None but Riddick himself…

The halls now echo with whispers other than mine. The wind brings them to my ears and they are sorrowful. Broken. They cut flesh and soul. Almost humble. The words come out hard.

_My…Captain of the Ship…come back…for me…once more…'cause I'm lost now…my good girl…more so…than I ever was before…_

The both of us, an Elemental and a Furyan, thought we were alone, I with my calculation, he with the dead child. We have both lost a battle…of sorts. His back is facing me, his hands on the glass crypt. I have never seen it in him before, but now it is clear. The unknown variable is stronger in the equation of his life. And _he knows_…That is the mystery. Why despite its power, it never worked on the others. It failed to sustain them, because they never knew. It was lost to them. Driven by pain and shock in the back of their minds where it lay dormant until it was too late, because they did not understand. They never got a chance to.

But in a Furyan's mind, all that is never named, all that is never spoken of…is never forgotten. I cannot help but ask:

"To what God does a Furyan pray?"

He does not turn to face me, although there is a part of him that would cut my throat just about now.

"It's pointless to pray… "

The silence stretches between us as he searches for the right words to say that would convey as little of his own inner struggles as possible. Sometimes, a man who seems cold is just…well… lonely.

"…to the Holy Man's God, who took away from me everything I ever wanted and made _another_ pay for it. To the dead priestess in my head? Ha! Like that is not fucking ironic! The dead I wanna speak to never answer back, and those who do answer back I don't wanna listen to. So there is no one left to pray to. Pointless. How's that for a logical argument? "

"No one can really tell the future, Riddick. Even predictions are half-truths that can be easily misinterpreted."

This drew his eerie looking eyes away from the ever-sleeping child that he did not really see to my anguished face.

"It has been revealed to me that I might have miscalculated certain…things. However highly unlikely…that could be one thing we have in common. But the question we must both face now is this: if the dead decide to answer back…what will we say? What will we say?"

It could have been a trick of my high-strung mind, but I could swear I saw that elusive variable reshaping the equation of Riddick's life.

"It is foolish of me to hope this", I managed to say "but I do hope that _your dead_ and_my dead_ never meet!"

The halls were filled with his laughter. That was one thing we _**did not**_ have in common…


	8. Chapter 8 Summoning

**A/N: Hail to the almighty Internet for providing invaluable information on the Preds:) This is a slightly longer chapter and it is the product of watching too much Star Trek and listening too much Drowning Pool. Hope you like it...Enjoy! **

Summoning

The massive _Jag'd'ja atoll_ was drifting in Deep Space outside the populated systems, nearing the Barrens, a large portion of space devoid of all life. Which meant that no clan had established their dominion here. No wonder the Great One had chosen it for the Summoning. Although a busy spacecraft in normal times, with over 500 Yautja or dwellers coming and going on regular basis, the Mothership seemed particularly crowded. Hunters from all over the Empire had come, driven by the Call. Even vagrants, dishonored hunters waiting for their chance at redemption, were lurking in the shadows, careful not to upset the proud warriors that had answered the_ Ka'rik'Na_.

The Trinian, my vessel, had only docked a few hours ago, and wherever I went I was greeted with the same posture that mimicked the closest Yautja ever got to curiosity. I remained silent. My report was meant for the Council only.

"Yo, Lou'An!" a man called after me. I smiled. Wraiths come in all shapes and sizes. The Captain of the _Leander_ was no hunter by the standards of the Empire, what with his ill-looking-thin-as-a-rake appearance and crooked nose, but more of a tradesman. To all fairness, the _Leander_ was never intended to be a hunter vessel, however, Mirko had some skill with the gun and a foul mouth that irked his opponents to death. Literally.

"Hold up, boy! Where you headin' so fast?"

He finally caught up with me, dodging several Hunters who refrained from spearing him just because there was not much left to the Captain of the Leander to make a pretty trophy. Lung cancer. But thanks to the rec-jobs, he smoked up to 2 packs a day. Even now, there was a half burned cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

"Whoooeeey, lots of Big Boys around here. And I'll bet a pack of Cools there not here for the pretty ladies." He chuckled devilishly. "Season's kinna draughty, ain't it? Lost me self a few sweet deals. That ain't fun, ya know? Hunts is not gonna feed the ol' churner. So, what in high heavens is goin' on? Must be some deep shit if the even Four-Mandibles over there got all worked up 'bout it."

"It's more like what in low-heavens, Mirko. " I patted his back while he chocked with the smoke. I could hear him laughing as I drew away.

"Low-heavens, he says. Woaaa, that shit is funny right there, Geez…"

The last Wraith Vessel had just docked. The fabled Kumary. Its Captain is coming aboard. Hunters cock their heads, vagrants take deeper to the shadows, there is even scent of female Yautja in the air. I catch the faint outline of the Captain's cloaked figure as she steps cautiously on the deck of the Mothership. There are two more, her senior officers: D'jai Lya, my former second in command, now a nav officer, and Garreth, chief engineer, a seasoned-traveler of DS. They take a few more seconds, probably to survey the situation – a non-Yautja Young Blood is a trophy worth a dozen hunts, at least - , before they make their appearance.

I remember a time, not so long ago, when Scar Back had to fight every challenging Yautja whenever she set foot outside the chambers she was assigned to by the Leading Mother. They would break her bones, tear her skin open and generally beat her to a bleeding pulp. The Great One called it training. Then there were the fights in the Arena. Put two opponents in a confined space, set them against each other and then let loose various types of beasts in order to test their cooperation. Which translates into more beating, more bruising, more scarring, more pain. But she became the unchallenged queen of the Arena. For, in those early days, what she lacked in strength she learned how to compensate in wits. Cruelly, inhumanly, the Great One achieved his purpose. He wrought Scar Back in pain and fashioned her already strong survival instincts to perfection. He gave her command of the Kumary and the best Wraith crew in DS and they stormed through the realm, laying down not the law, but Order.

After her first encounter with the parasitic Xenomorphs, which claimed almost half of her crew, she received the Mark of Honor. It shone now bloody red on her forehead. But it was not enough. The will of the Great One was beyond challenge. The Kumary was first in line for everything that involved certain death or slim chances of escape. He hacked at her body and sought to devise a Hunter Soul within her. But something inside the little blonde woman still held fast. I could see it in her eyes as she defiantly approached the center of the deck. Something they could not see, and not because of their impaired vision, but because it was something innately alien to their understanding. Something…human.

"It's been a while, Captain!" I extend my hand to greet her, and, sure enough, she grabs it and gives me one of those half-smiles of hers.

"Indeed, it has, Captain. Heard from Gus you've been busy in the Verse."

Has she really? I should probably ask her about Ronnie, but as I am looking at her two senior officers, the thought vanishes from my head. My Lya is looking gorgeous.

"How's it going, Chief?" I like Garreth. Very smart, with a hint of a British accent. Very savvy in many things, not just engines. Even in his fifties he's quite the looker. I should be worried, but there are things that a rec-job can't fix. He's missing an important part from the waist down. An accident, long before DS. Nevertheless, it doesn't prevent him from being one of the dirtiest talkers around.

He nods enthusiastically. There will be plenty of time to talk later.

"Lya…" I purr. I've missed her and in view of my recent discoveries I feel the urge of slamming her against the nearest wall and act like a couple of_breeders._

"Oh, pah-lease!" the Captain scoffs, catching my badly disguised look of lust. "The damn mating quarters are a deck below, you know! "

Lya laughs heartily.

"Sorry, it's just an animal thing" I say nonchalantly, knowing how personal she'll take it. It's so easy yanking her chain. I know that, she knows that, hell, even the Great One knows that.

Speaking of which, is about time he made an entrance. It's not wise to leave so many hunt-mongering Yautja unsupervised for so long, all in the same place. Fights are bound to break out. I'm sure this is some test of endurance, but by the looks of everyone here, fidgeting with their weapons, it's a test we're all about to flunk miserably. Only Scar Back is strangely calm. This is not her fight. She is saving her strength for later. I guess the test is over, because the Great One is slowly advancing towards the center of the _Jag'd'ja atoll._ Quietly, we form a circle around him. The Leading Mother of his Clan, heavier and taller then the slender looking Elder, is guarding the entrance from which the Great One emerged. The sudden disappearance of Hunting Grounds is a problem that affects all, especially the territorial and dominance-centered females.

The Great One gestures for me to step forward and present my report. With her arms crossed, Scar Back waits for me to start talking with fierce anticipation. The Wrath of a Wraith is a terrible thing. I am suddenly reminded of the first time I saw her. She's a stubborn creature and she hates losing an argument. I turn on my universal translator and so do the others. Do you think I am a good storyteller? Judge for yourselves:

"They are an army like no other, crusading across the Universe in search of their promised land, a place they call the Underverse. They are Necromongers, and if they can't convert you, they will kill you. They've already ravaged many Grounds, destroying entire civilizations, scorching planet-sides with the Ascension Protocol. They are nomads, traveling ahead of the Vast Legion, disguised as a comet. Their numbers are growing with every ruined society and in their faith _you keep what you kill!_ "

I paused for effect. This touched the Yautja sense of possession. What they kept was not theirs to kill in the first place. I continued.

"But where do they come from? How have they acquired such technology as to allow them to destroy entire systems? These are the things the _Trinian_ was sent to discover. And I can say with enough certainty that I have found the answers. I have been a loyal subject to the Empire for many years now, and not once have I strayed from my mission to uncover worthy Game for the Greatest of Hunts. Our venerable Elder can attest to that." The Great One nodded in consent. "But I am pained to say that these sackers of worlds, this disease that plagues the Verse is _not_ fair game." Yautja all around the deck stirred in disbelief. I thundered:

"They are Scavengers! They come from the ranks of the Untouchables! They are _Eta_!" A communal roar echoed through the hulls of the great ship. The treachery was unspeakable. Traditionally, _Eta_formed a class of lame or crippled Yautja, that were unable or too cowardly to join a hunt, so they served as slaves, only to be ridiculed and humiliated by the Hunters. When the races of Man settled in Deep Space and got accustomed to the ways of the Empire, the ranks of Eta were filled with human unworthy ones. _Leeches and Lepers._ Unbeknownst to high ranking dwellers, these Eta grew large in numbers and were even rumored to have been the driving force behind the Slave Wars. Many even became Slave Traders, playing a double game, while others teamed up with the untouchables among the Yautja and smuggled technology outside DS. Scar Back knew this very well. They were, more often than not, the gate-openers the Kumary tracked down and destroyed. But the knowledge that such a large community of Eta lived outside the borders of Deep Space was unfathomable. The surprise was great indeed. However, it made very much sense. The Necromongers were a young race, so to speak. Only six Lord Marshalls had guided the Armada across the Universe. Which meant that the original Eta that had flown from DS, in full possession of the secrets and, most important, the technology of this realm, had found a way to reproduce themselves (Eta were sterilized when they joined the Untouchables so as not to perpetuate their dishonor). It only takes one man's illusion to create a disease, but it takes a collectivity to create religion. Thus the Necromonger way was born. Frustrated, small, insignificant creatures…

"If these Necromongers you speak of are Eta, as you claim, how'd they get so strong? The Gate Openers we hunt are no match for our firepower. Even their ships are inferior to the Wraith vessels. Fuck, even the Leander would have a field day with them. Sorry Mirko…" Scar Back hit the nail on the head.

" No problem, sweet thing!"

"…how come no one stood up to them? Marines, Rangers, the fucking cavalry, nobody could stop them from big banging entire solar systems?"

All eyes turned to me.

"Their methods are subversive. The conversion process is quite successful…most of the times. They are only spoken of and they are surrounded by an aura of superstition. The Devil's Hood, they're called. But, my belief is that they were…permitted…to grow so much in power, perhaps for the particular knowledge they possess. It all concerns a prophecy about the one race that did not bow to them and the warrior that would be the downfall of the Necromonger way. The prophecy has already come to pass. A Furyan male has killed the Lord Marshall. He will keep what he killed, willingly or not. Even as we speak the Vast Legion is being directed to Deep Space."

"Deep Space? What in the_low-heavens_ would they be wanting with us? An ass-kick for ol' time's sake? Fucking perves!" Mirko chimed in.

"This Underverse they speak of…_a constellation of dark new worlds_…is nothing else than a stellar nursery: the birth place of …life. There are various such nebulas in the Verse, but only one that evolved quite differently than expected. We all know it as the Expanse." There was uncomfortable movement on the deck. Man, did they know it…

"Somehow, they must have figured a way to travel to the Expanse, because the last Lord Marshall returned from it with powers unheard of."

"A _S'yuit-de,_ a low-life, crossed the thresh hold to the Sacred Place?!" the Leading Mother roared, flickering her mandibles. "The insect…"

"…has been squashed by the Killer of Men, my Leading Mother". This appellative drew the Captain's attention.

"_Ki'dte!_ Enough!" the Elder intervened. "Furyans were skilled and proud warriors, and Yautja has been honored to hunt them, but it has been made known to us that they _all_ dance with the fallen gods now."

"All but one, wisest among Elders. The Necromonger chieftain, driven by hate and consumed by fear of the prophecy, brought fire down on Furya and had all male newborns strangled with their umbilical cords." Roars thundered once more. To kill a helpless child was an abomination even to the inhuman Yautja. "But one alone survived and he has been blessed with the gifts of all sights." I raised my voice above the clamor.

Scar Back was growing restless, her eyes ablaze with an inner fire she could no longer conceal.

"This prophecy…who issued it? Why of all races, a Furyan?" This was _Carolyn_ trying to make sense of things.

"To my knowledge, it was an Elemental who looked into the Lord Marshall's future."

"A what?!" This was way beyond Mirko's capacity.

"They are a mysterious and rarefied race. Elementals calculate future scenarios and are known to use secrecy and political manipulations in order to achieve their goals." Don't we all do that, I thought.

"So, we've cleared the who. Now the why!" Carolyn demanded

I looked deep into her eyes.

"Truthfully, I don't know."

"Maybe this Elemental thingy cracked under torture or something. Could even be some bad blood between them races. Or this all just a game. Sounds to me these Elementals are a bunch of jaw-jackers. They got some psycho fucked up dude of an Eta all worked up and he blew his load on the furious guys, right? But that's gotta be one hell of a hard-on he had to ease if there were no survivors, except one lucky babe. Come on, just one guy, out of an average population of, what, let's say 6 billion? It just ain't right! I'm telling you, it's foul play. It could've been anyone else. The why doesn't matter, once you put things in motion."

We all stared bewildered at Mirko.

"What? I used to play domino back in the day!" Mirko responded innocently.

The Great One had heard enough.

"These unworthy insects must be crushed! I care not by which means, but the Hunting Grounds must be returned for the everlasting glory of the Hunt! The Sacred Place must be guarded! Such proud Hunters stand now before me! But, I know well, few of you will walk the Dark Path. Speak, Yautja, who demands the honor of facing this Fresh Game in the Verse?"

We all brandish our weapons as one, fiercely, yet quietly. Mirko lights another cigarette.

The Elder is not easily deceived. He knows none of his Hunters would lower themselves to fight Eta, even with the lack of Grounds.

"You are fools all. Yet, the first part of the Path lies through the door of the fool."

I hear Lya whispering: "Seriously, how are they gonna do this, if they refuse to fight? Talk them down until they're dead?"

There is a step. And then another. Scar Back is now facing the Elder.

"_The fight begun will not end until the end…_The Kumary was assigned to hunt down those who do not obey the Order. Scar Back demands the honor of facing the Necromongers of the Verse! "

It is a magical moment. The human Young Blood restating a decision made a long time ago and the Elder that gave her the power to do so facing each other.

"So be it!"

The Council disbands. Yautja slowly exit the main deck. This is their problem no longer. Only five humans left.

"Now, about this Killer of Men…" It's Carolyn surfacing again. Smoke from Mirko's dying cigarette enshrouds us all.

"You know him."

"Even if _he_ were a…the…Furyan…fucking with him would not be easy. Especially making him do things he has no interest in doing. I may not know much lately, but I know that manipulating him ends bad. The last guy who tried that got his brains eaten by a Hammerhead. So, what's the catch? "

This is it. The real thing I was dreading to say. I inhaled then exhaled slowly.

"They got to him through_his charges. _The Elemental envoy, Aereon, used the Old Man, who then later lost his life in the raid on New Mecca, and the Necromongers used the Child, whom they converted and killed in the final battle."

It happened so fast, it caught me off-guard. Her wrist-blades were on my neck. Everybody else took one step back. The fire in her eyes was scorching. All those years of pain, so much pain, years of rec-jobs and killing and blood she could not rub off. Years in which the borders of sanity and insanity were blurred by unspeakable cruelty. Blood was trickling down my throat. I don't think she actually meant to do it but her hand was shaking so badly she couldn't help it. This wasn't wrath, it was rage. Pure kill rage.

"Listen to me!" I managed to say. "LISTEN!" I growled.

"Don't let the Mark enter your soul! Don't forget your Name! Don't forget your Home!"

How many times had my people said that?

But, in her case, Rage gave in to Reason.

"Carolyn does what Carolyn knows best…" I softly whispered

The blades came off. Reason was overshadowed by Sorrow.

"And _I_ fail over and over again…"


	9. Chapter 9 Kill Rage

**A/N: I Own Nothing... **

**To Hope K: Beg no more! It is here;)**

**To Brimseye: You definitely had a ball reviewing:)) thanks a lot:) **

**This chapter was very difficult for me to write and it took me quite some time to wrap it up. So, enjoy and tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is more than welcome:) **

Kill Rage

Rage. Anger. The need to kill. The reason Preds fear us so much. The reason humans make such prized trophies. You can't neutralize the kill rage by cutting off a gland. It is within our very essence: the killer instincts. Yautja are the greatest Hunters in the Universe. But Humans are the greatest killers. The Elder knew that when he took me in, when he put me in recovery, when he put a blade in my hand and ordered his Hunters to come at me, to draw my blood until I fought back, until Reason was clouded by Rage. Self-defense? Fuck that! Maybe the first blow…but the second…the third…the fourth… Even animals know when enough is enough. They had to pull me away…

I used to hate myself for nearly ghosting 40 passengers. After a couple of years of Deep Space, I didn't have a self to hate… Did I ever worry about such things? About pulling a god-damned handle? About leaving two people behind on a monster infested planet in the middle of fucking nowhere just to save my own ass? None of that mattered. And I seriously began to ponder if it ever did. I entertained that particular idea. That maybe I had been…wrong. Then I just forgot… and I became the worst kind of Wraith in the worst kind of Space. All that talk about Wraiths always killing for a reason…just one of those illusions people like to hold on to, even - or especially - in DS.

I was going to kill Lou'An. For no reason. For no _legitimate_ reason. Insanely, ragingly slit his throat. No whispers. I heard nothing, I felt nothing, I just tasted the blood trickling down his throat. _This was not Wrath_. Not that feeling that drove me to raid the entire Lupus System. Not the feeling that made me hate people I once cared for. No. _It was Rage. Pure Kill Rage._

Then came the shouting. Memories demanded attention until I knew not what was _now_ and what was _then_. Men…they always shout at me. Captain Mitchell did, Owens did, Johns did, _he_ did… now Lou'An was doing it.

"_LISTEN!_"

I always listen…

_Don't touch that handle!_

_Shut up!_

_Look deeper!_

Darkness. I hate all the fucking darkness. But Lou'An's eyes shine bright and they stare me down although I'm the one holding the blades. Too bad his eyes are the wrong color…

"_Don't let the Mark enter your soul…_"

After the pain, after the death, after the beating, after the fights, after the Wraith Raids, after I thought there was nothing left of me to lose, there was the Hunt. My first encounter with the Xenomorphs. I lost almost my entire crew on a planet were breeding went out of control. And I did not lose them in a fight…they did not die honorably. They died so those fuckers could live. They died by my hands so those fuckers wouldn't. I wept for them. But no amount of tears could wipe their blood and the blood of so many others off my hands. I received the Mark. For the Yautja it was a sign of pride. For me, it was the Mark of Shame forever imprinted on my forehead, the sign that would never let me forget all those I had miserably failed. It was the cross I had to carry. Even now it weighs heavy on my soul. Let it! I fucking deserve it…

"_Don't forget your Name…"_

My name…

_Is there something special about that, Caroleen?_

Like you can't decide if it's Carolyn or Caroline… Strangely enough, I was told my father had the same problem. I guess he tossed a coin or something. He had blue eyes and a blue uniform. He was a cop…he chose to be a cop…and cops die. Johns learned that the hard way. Can't say I _really_ felt sorry or that I didn't see it comin'. Didn't like him all that much, not even in the beginning. He walked like he had a shiv up his ass. Sway left, sway right. But too much heat and not enough oxygen can do strange things to a woman's common sense.

_I heard you first, Fry!_

As if it was a fucking contest… but no matter how hard I try, I can't hate her. Be angry (_Jesus, Jack!_) for about two seconds – sure - and then she defeats me with her innocence in the ways of the world. She'll never outgrow _that_. Only problem is the damage I can do in those two seconds… doesn't matter now, does it??

_Look…No one's gonna blame you…Save yourself, Ca-roh-lyn…_

One thing I hate more than losing an argument is losing an argument to _him_.That and the havoc he wreaks with my senses every time he says those damned_rrrrs. _How did that go?Too many R's in his name. Just one in Carolyn. So, Fuck you, Carolyn!

I swear he's worse than Deep Sleep Disorientation, Post Recovery Trauma or any sort of trauma, for that matter, put together. Can't seem to make a coherent, logical decision whenever he's involved. Is either my body not listening to my brain, or my brain not listening to my body. Wouldn't he like to know how right he turned out to be? 'Cause in the end, I'm doing the saving all by myself. Yeah, how about that? For once, I should just do it his way! Stop sniffling, stop begging, get my fuck on and move on…

The blades cut deeper…

"_Don't forget your Home!_"

Nowhere truly felt like home. That's why I became a pilot. That's why I took up the long-haul rides. I wasn't running away. Had nothing to run away from. Had nothing to run to. So I figured that a destination fixed by whatever company chose to employ me was better than no destination at all. They say home is where your heart is. Pilots say your heart is more often than not in your pants. I undid mine a couple of times. Basic human needs, right? But it was a lie. Never found home in another's arms, no matter how pseudo-serious it got.

Just this one time…just for one day and an everlasting night…

I ran…away from him, then after him, then for him…

Because with him, all deaths I could endure. Huddled together until we couldn't see what was eating us or head-on, facing the winged demons on their territory. But what life without him? A life of misery, with those under-disclosing eyes haunting my memory as a reminder of how I failed to stick to the deal? I let him make of me a sniveling, murderous coward, and almost an accomplice but I couldn't - _wouldn't - _let him make of me a liar.

We were going to get out of there.

That was the one time I did not mind being wrong. I was only sorry he didn't understand. I could feel it in his collapsing body… in the way his hands raked possessively and endearingly desperate over my small frame…in the look of disappointment on his usually emotionless face…like he was the one being sorry… I tried to tell him that it was okay, that I didn't mind, that he was safe and that was all that mattered. I tried to thank him for making me feel _at home_…but no words came out. So I smiled: _No regrets…_ He held onto my hand for a second longer and he was gone…or was I?

"_Carolyn does what Carolyn knows best…_"

The blades came off.

The only thing I ever did and knew best was running towards certain death. And yet here I was, very much alive, on the Mothership of the Yautja race, drifting in a corner of the 'verse called Deep Space.

"And I fail over and over again…"

The deck was silent. Mirko's cigarette was wasted. I heaved a deep sigh. And said:

"After the Great Hunt, after I received the Mark, after all the fucking festivities, I went into my quarters, secured the door, unsheathed the ritual knife and cut my wrists. No pain, just the finger pressing down and gone was the DS Wraith. I did not see my life flashing before my eyes. I had no life, it was forgotten. But as I watched the blood smearing the ceremonial clothes, I remembered the single most shocking discovery of my existence: that my blood was just as red as his, that even he, the infamous Bad Blood of the Verse, could bleed and that it probably tasted the same metallic, copperish flavor. And for the first time since I had been born to DS, I could see his face clearly, I could see his shined eyes and hear his commanding voice:

_**Save Yourself, Carolyn!**_

So I did. I finally did what he asked me to do. I crawled to the rec-station and had my veins sutured. I took the Kumary and plotted course to the Helion System. I bypassed that excuse they call Space Security and got off on New Mecca. I walked the streets of the Muslim District in broad daylight, like I was human again. And no one stopped me. No one shunned me. No one cried _Murderer._ I stopped to watch a man play with his daughter, while his wife was looking at them adoringly. _We are all on the same Haji now._ He lived. He moved on. But Jack was lost. Riddick was gone."

Strange to hear my voice say his name. Strange to hear his name in Deep Space.

"Gone to the forgotten worlds. I could relate to that. I could even understand it. He just wanted to be left alone, but in his own fucked-up way he was actually looking after them. They didn't see that. How could they or anyone else grasp the true terror of loneliness? To them what he did was a cop-out. To me, the lonely Wraith even among its brethren, it was just a mask. I had no doubt that in whatever solitude he found himself he still clung to some memory or illusion: their lives, their safety. Perhaps even idealistic Carolyn from long ago would have understood. Perhaps she would have packed his bags.

I went looking for Jack. Instead I found Kira. I didn't like her. Didn't like the hair, didn't like the attitude. Didn't like the catch-phrase: _I'm a new animal._ Go figure! Reminded me too much of my DS self. I hated her just as much as I hated myself. Ok, maybe a little more. Jesus, I thought she had standards…Mercs? Come on, what the fuck! William the Conqueror had a hard time digging out Riddick, what chances did a bunch of shit-heads, pseudo-cops from Lupus 5 stand? Hell, even I, with all the Yautja technology and the hints from Al-Imam, took some time with it. She got sent to Slam. To Ursa Luna of all places. I wasn't happy about that. I hadn't resurfaced in the Universe unprepared. I had done my homework. It was even done for me. You know what I mean: Wraith Vessels do business with Prison Facilities. Earn the wardens a few extra credits on the Black Market, and charge a fine commission. Commerce needs transportation, right? There was an entire network of contacts available to a DS Order Enforcer and all sorts of information: penal files, slam footage, blueprints, you name it. The Yautja cloak had its uses. It was too easy to pull out Riddick's file, the unabridged version. I learned things. That's how I got Horner's file too, by the way. So, having the kid sent to shine job heaven was not what I had in mind. She needed to be taught a lesson. I was angry. I was bitter. A prison transfer was signed. No med-stations on Crematoria. She never knew this. I had a copy of the new sentence sent over to Imam. Just in case _anyone would be wondering_. Then I proceeded to hunt down the mercs that sold her out and the traders that bought her. I ended up killing everyone who opened their eyes to me. Their deaths felt good.

But the Kumary's comings and goings drew suspicion from the Empire. Things were stirring in DS. I left the 'Verse – apparently - before the Necromongers really became a problem. By that time, I had already tracked Riddick down in the UV system. How many times did I have to kill the urge to land? Every time I looked down at the frozen planet… Down there he was the Hunter. Up here he would be the Hunted. I left. I turned my back on them. And now they're dead. Dead the laughing Father and the troubled Child…"

_I would never leave you, sweetheart!_

My audience was silent. Then Lya cocked her head and snapped at last:

"Enough of this shit! You are a Hunter, a territorial female, Captain of the Ship, not some whining, pitiful Eta! You bow to no one and answer to no one! This is_ your fight!_ And it's about time the Universe learned you Do Not Fuck with Deep Space! Let's ride out – she pleaded - and meet the Armada, Captain! And wipe them out of existence!"

Lou'An handed me a disk and said softly – the cuts I inflicted took their toll:

"This is a message spread across the Verse by the Elementals. It's a start…"

And so it begins…

_If you have answers, please seek me out. My name is Aereon…_


	10. Chapter 10 You keep what you kill

**A/N:Again, I Own Nothing! (this is really getting old)  
**

**To Brimseye: so many questions for me to answer as well...hope this helps:) P.S.: Universal, here I come:D  
**

**To FitMama: glad you like it...the meeting is probably the hardest thing I'll have to write...but I'm getting there!**

**To Hope K.: Many thanks!**

**To Wild Horsefeathers8753: I agree with you...there is just not enough of the Fry we love out there! **

**My inspiration for this chapter is the tall blonde sitting behind Lord Marshall in one of the TCOR scenes. I kinda liked her and I felt sorry for Riddick trapped on a ship full of dull Necromongers and the overly scheming Vaakos. Thought he should make some friends...he could always have them killed later, no?...Ok, maybe that came out too harsh...enough said... Enjoy!**

You keep what you kill

It would seem an eternity has passed since the QuasiDead cried the sentence that echoed through the great halls of Necropolis in the guise of the Necromonger battle cry: _Kill the Breeder! Kill the Furyan! _In truth, not a month has passed. Constantly on the move, never seeing beyond the Armada and the armor-clad back of the Lord Marshall, just as he commits another world to the ashes the unfaithful deserve…while he eradicates yet another part of the grand error…well, in such circumstances, time tends to become irrelevant to a Necromonger Lady such as myself. Never have I busied myself with petty scheming, nor question, or even ponder, for that matter, issues such as loyalty, purpose or design. I was content at my lover's side. The envious would have you believe I worked my way to his Holiness good graces, that, craving creature that I am, I made use of my charms to obtain power and influence. How else would I be permitted to stand by the Holy Half-Dead himself? Share his sympathy and his bed?

But I am no Breeder whore. I am a woman to be admired. A befitting jewel to honor his magnificence. I am daughter of kings, tall and proud…my entire family, the royal house of a forgotten planet, converted at the hands of a great warrior who would become the first Lord Marshall ever to cross the Threshold. I fancy myself not to be presumptuous when I say that Zhylaw has greatly benefited from our unfailing support. Or so my father assures me. I have never questioned him. I have never cared. The man that raided my home world deserved to die. The commander that revealed to me the error of my ways deserved to take his place. It is as far as my grasp of politics goes. Such things trouble me not. They are for my father and brother to worry about. Oh, and for meddling, vile, hateful women that have forgotten what it means to be a woman. To be beautiful for the sake of beautiful. To walk with my head high, boldly, proudly. First and foremost, I am Fair Gwendolen, a Necromonger Lady. Secondly, and that is for me alone to enjoy, I am Consort to Lord Zhylaw. I am his refuge, when the greatness of his holy task is a burden too heavy for him to carry. Our union is blessed.

Alas, all is lost now. Fair Gwendolen flees to the shadows. The shame that has befallen her is unspeakable. And yet it is spoken of. I walk among my kind, my fellow Necromongers, and they shun me. They have not the courage to speak to my face, so they gossip behind my back. Other ladies mock me openly. How they have longed for this moment. The fall of haughty Gwendolen.

My father will see me now. I know what he would ask of me. And it must be done. For _he_ is now gone. I belong to another. Gone, my powerful lover, gone…

I expect to be greeted by my father's undaunted eyes. But instead it is her inky orbs and slippery silhouette that waltz across the chamber. Dame Vaako.

"Come, my beauty, we have been waiting for you!" Her honeyed voice is poison to my ears.

"I was told my father wanted to see me."

"Ah, yes, him. Well, you do understand, beautiful, in delicate matters such as these, a woman is far more appropriate to handle the situation", she explains, her hands doing a little mid-air dance.

"Indeed, your reputation of…handling…situations…precedes you, my dear Dame Vaako! " I smile sickly, pleasured to see the sting has hit its mark.

"You know what I always say, Gwendolen, when in difficulty, do it yourself or set a woman to do it…" there is an edgier tone in her voice. But I have no patience for minced words.

"So, what would you have_this woman_ do?"

"Your duty!" she hisses, launching at me like an untamed cobra.

"Ha! I would rather die first!"

"That can be arranged, my beauty!" She produces a blade out of nowhere and holds it to my face. The woman has no fear, as I am a good couple of inches taller than she is. Cold steel grazing my left cheek, colder flesh mocking a caress on my right cheek.

"So beautiful and fair…like silvery winter from long ago. Do you remember the cold bite of winter from your home world, Gwendolen? Do you even remember home? Your little brothers and sisters and your poor, helpless mother trying to protect them…No?? Should I paint this picture in more vivid colors? Perhaps you would like me to _remind you_ how your sniveling, spineless coward of a father and brother fell to their knees and converted just to save their puny little lives, while wife and mother, children and siblings were being butchered by the raid party? While eldest daughter and sister was mindlessly spreading her legs to welcome the seedless organ of the young and promising Commander, over and over and over again…"

The silken words cut deeper than the blade.

"You and I both wear the Mark of the Convert… you and I both spread our legs for a _young and promising _ Commander… _Mine_ happened to actually become Lord Marshall. That says something about our particular skills, doesn't it? "

"Bitch!"

She deals me a good blow. She's stronger than she looks, the vicious harpy.

"Save your wicked threats, woman! I will do what you ask! But bear this in mind: when you go at night and sleep next to your worthless and pathetic husband, try to picture all the imaginable ways the Furyan breeder will take me and see how much comfort will that bring you."

I dose my words carefully.

"Knowing that yet another Lord Marshall will chose me over you! "

The look on her face is well worth the pain her words inflicted. She was second best. Or, better said, _Vaako_ was second best.

Her tantrums worry me not anymore. She raves and rants as I exit triumphantly. I will be true to my word. Men, Lord Marshalls or not, Furyans or not, are just men. Never had a human male lived and breathed that could say no to me. This one will not be the exception.

Is he wondering about us, ghostly figures, who bow politely and suspiciously whenever he passes by?

Is he resisting our ways?

Trying to shut us out?

Biding his time in the dark he loves so much, with a dead child and over-brooding Elemental as sole companions… I doubt any words have been exchanged between the Furyan and our kind, except the orders Vaako is currently carrying out like the faithful Commander that he is.

But before I am to carry out my task, like a good Necromonger that I am, I find myself walking the familiar path to the now uninhabited chambers of Zhylaw. Wondering if the bed sheets still carry our smell, if everything is as he had left it, fantasizing that the door would open to my lover's figure.

It does not. Instead it opens to darkness and the only thing it fears…

_Riddick_

"Looking for something? Or…someone?"

Blood rushes through my veins as I struggle at composure. They taught us to lessen a pain through another. Perhaps learning how to lessen desire would have been more adequate. Sterilization hardly does the work.

"Debatable matter indeed!" I laugh lightly. It's true. Never been my habit to deceive.

I slowly begin my approach, careful not to put him in defense. After all, I want him to advance, not retreat, right?

"Some say you are an animal…A breeder…worse than that…a Furyan Breeder… "

At my height is hard to pull off a saccharine voice, so there is a certain crispness in my tone that I cannot hide.

"What do you think?"

His voice, on the other hand, is grave, not harsh, a baritone voice, like steel cutting through velvet. I wish I had worn velvet. My leather frock might not appeal to him.

But by the scorching gaze that slides appreciatively up and down my body, I could be wrong. I doubt that he is aware, but he makes a purring sound, or more like a hushed groan, whenever he looks at my face. There is a glimpse of recognition shimmering in his features, but it is fleeting. I find myself wanting to see that again.

"I think you are…a man. An extraordinary man…"

We are close now. Close enough for him to grab me, if he chooses to. I think I hope he does. It would surely make things easier for me. Instead, he stares at my fair hair and then at my grey eyes. What details could he possibly register with those shined eyes of his? And most importantly, what do they remind him of, because, sure enough, that look of recognition is back on his face again.

I am just as tall as he is, so when he pulls me closer with one strong arm, our eyes are at the same level. He inches his head towards me, the other hand raking through my hair. He inhales deeply and for one moment I give in to the exquisite pleasure of being so close to such a fine male specimen. I don't need the proof of his body to know he wants me, I already know. I probably want him to. Him or any other man for that matter. Something to fill the void with for any amount of time.

However, the sorrowful exhalation comes as surprise to me. So do his words.

"You smell like this room does."

I don't think that was a compliment. Well, too bad for him then . I am done grieving. It hurts too much. I would willingly wrestle him to bed, or any other place he might be inclined to take me.

"You keep what you kill" I whisper in his neck.

I am suddenly testy with impatience, so I bite his shoulder muscles.

He holds my head back by a fist in my long hair. He likes it rough, huh? I had my share of hard loving before, I can handle it and I let my eyes tell him that. He seems to have received the message, but something is holding him back.

"I know who you are!"…if that is what's bothering him. I'm not lying , even if we are in Zhylaw's room.

His face is a hardened mask my passion cannot penetrate.

"I'm just another woman, take what I have to give you. I am offering it willingly. " My hands clenched.

"Have you no respect for yourself, for that? " he points with a grin at the bed me and Zhylaw used to share.

Strange, didn't think he'd be the type to care.

"I am done with that! I am done with such pain!"

His letting go is so abrupt, I stagger backwards.

"You are never done with such pain! Nothing can fill that void. You think this is the easy way out. You'd be wrong. When the animal is sated, conscience comes and bites you in the ass. You and I may not have much of that, but I'm guessin' we have a pretty good memory. And despair between both our legs."

I would have gone with _him_ to bed. But he would not have. Not with _me,_but to whoever he saw in me that made him eventually stop. What sort of woman could have such power over a man like him?

"She is dead… " The child comes into mind first.

He _smiles_ right through my reasoning and I know it's wrong.

"She's not dead. She's not supposed to be dead…"

"Is that why you ordered Vaako to set course for the Threshold? To get her back?"

The need to know is unbearable.

"Why'd you ask? You think I give a fuck about the lot of you?"

"Oh, I know that given the first chance, you'd leave all of us to die, or even ease our passing to the Underverse. But, you are avoiding the answer. What is really hurting you?"

He's amazed at my audacity. I guess hurt and Riddick are not two notions that go well together.

"Because, if I don't get her back, it would make all the other deaths pointless."

He said _deaths_, but he meant only _one_.

I would have pressed further, but he cocked his head suddenly, all animal instincts on alert. I had been told he kept doing that, having Vaako run sensor readings or doing that himself. I listened too. I had often had the feeling I was being watched, but paid no heed to it, thinking it was just another malevolent convert. Prying eyes were not so unusual in Necropolis.

"Did ya feel that?"

Obviously, rhetorical.

"Ever since we left Helion System."

Now it was his turn to look surprised. Whatever it was, it was over soon.

There had to be a proper ending for our little talk.

It wasn't quite the one I was hoping for.

"Ever had someone give their life for you?"

Dame Vaako's words come to haunt me again.

"Yes…My mother"

"Then you know it's not a good feeling."

I gather up my courage and ask:

"Did you love her?"

"Like you did him?"

I winced. Did not expect this strong retaliation.

"No", is the curt answer.

Silence stretches her long arms between us and he walks slowly towards the door, like all of sudden he had aged a thousand years.

"But I spend my life wishing _she was here_…"


	11. Chapter 11 Memory of You

**A/N**

**To HopeK: many, many thanks...that was my intent and i'm so glad it came out right;)**

**Disclaimer goes to Pitch Black, TcoR, Ricky Martin, Neil Gaimanand the Easter Bunny. No kidding!**

**This is my first shot at a Riddick POV. If I don't update soon, I am on his serial killings list. No more chocolate bunnies for me:(**

Memory of you

Sometimes, I swear, her memory wants to kill me. Like her afterlife self wants payback for all the bullshit I put her through a long, long time ago. As much as I enjoyed it then, I wish now, as I am looking at a beautiful and beyond willing, brainwashed woman I want to fuck so badly it hurts, that I wasn't such an asshole. But that don't change anything: I did jaw-jack _her_ into craziness, I did fuck around with her sense of guilt and you_ don't wanna know_ what I had in store for her once she got her pretty, screwed-up little self on that damn skiff. Believe me, you just Don't Want To Know… Shit, a guy like me is bound to have some frustrations. And I was this close to having my own, personal outlet to use at discretion. Aghh, I should've left when I had the chance. The woman was trouble and I knew it.

Still is…cause I'm sitting here, in the chambers of the very-dead fuck who killed everything I ever knew…everything I had left…_everything I had left of her_…, looking at _his_ tall, strong bed-buddy, who was already coming for me, although I hadn't even touched her yet, thinking how glorious it would be to ravage her in his own bed, knowing that the poor zombie-like creature had had it bad for him. Knowing that screwing her brains out for good would accomplish some sort of sick justice. My kind of justice. But I couldn't. I wanted to. After five years of self accommodation I just couldn't do it. Not anymore. Not like this. I did it once, before my long voyage to the U.V. system…I think I fucked every whore on a five mile radius in one of the shittiest hoods in the 'verse, _in_ some of the shittiest places imaginable, that would make slams look kinda cute. Such pain as I experienced then, such hurt and despair, I _will not _inflict upon myself again, if it kills me. I wish it did. But the war inside me raged on.

In the first year of my exile on that frozen heap, the war got down and dirty. Sneaky, evil woman had leeched her way into my conscience, the one I allegedly never had, and played the card all sneaky, evil women, dead or alive, like to play on us, guys: the let's-share-some-background card. Silly me, to think I had reached such a level of toughness that I could prevent this stupid type of bonding from ever happening. One way to keep your insanity within acceptable limits is to forget. To choose to forget. It was a good strategy. It worked for me. Not anymore. I now had all the time in the world for reminiscin'…all the crap that was my life, flashing around, littering my brain…a never ending psych evaluation. Things I knew and even some things I didn't, crowding me out of sanity. It was at that precise moment the dead decided to gang-up on me. I wouldn't put it past _her_ to send the Furyan-whatever-the-fuck-that-is female off voice to keep me company, just as I was ready to deal the killer blow to an overgrown fluff ball. Must have been _her_ style of a heads-up, cause _she _wasn't exactly the most talkative dead person I've ever met. Which I vigorously despise her for…if we actually went through the trouble of having a life changing experience, you'd think we could manage a decent conversation. But nooo, why not die with a challenge? Let Big Evil figure it out for himself if he's such a badass! The cut-throat, back-stabbing, smug-ass, over-achieving bitch! The stupid bitch! The dead bitch…

That triggered the hate. I hated her and the universe that produced one such as herself! Since forgetting about her was obviously not an option, hating her seemed more reasonable. As for the universe, let it circle down the drain!

And, boy, what a journey that was!

How dare the guilt-ridden, sun-stroked blonde get away with _her life and her breather_ from my aimed-ready shiv? How dare the galactically stupid broad play whisky-shots-and-spill-your-guts with a morphine deprived merc? How dare she waltz in on _my_ territory announcing that they would just leave me there to die if I didn't cooperate? I hated her for caring…caring for the dead settler and for the chained convict. I hated her for giving me a chance… a chance for sending her to what I thought was certain death. I hated her for making it and staring me down after I cut the deal with Johns. She didn't tell me so…I told her so!

Hate burning through me veins. Every day and every night. Every waking moment. Every second of every hour of every day on that ice box. While I was hunting, while I was sleeping, while I was eating, while I was…you get the idea. For three years. Three years of making up reasons for hating her. And I came up with some crazy ones. If it snowed it was her fault, if there was even the slightest ray of light in that marshmallow soup, it was her fault. The end of that phase of my solitary existence was nothing short of fucking…hateful. Because by that time, I had gotten to the real interesting reasons. Reasons like the constant sign of equality she kept putting between I, Richard B. Riddick, escaped convict and murderer and her, docking pilot extraordinaire and one time wannabe killer of 40 plus. No resemblance. None What-so-ever!

I even started hating her for crashing down in front of me, next to a silly bottle of glow worms. Those whisky bottles…they bring out the worst in her. And _that,_ I soon realized after just one lucky tank tackle, was not to my advantage.

But the one thing I truly, truly felt like crushing her skull for, given a second chance, was her overrated heroism stunts that opened up my heart and made me vulnerable. I hated her for getting inside me and messing me up.

I spent_ my life_ building up defenses and a whole suit of armor so that nothing could hurt me and one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person in the stupid galaxy, does something really, really dumb, like dying _for me_ and leaving me crying in the darkness as she smiled her way through my soul, drilling, with shiv-sharp pain, a hole inside of it, that neither the holy man's faith, nor the kid's adoration could fill. My life was not mine anymore. It was theirs. And she made that decision for me. And I hated her for that. Anger took over me and hate knocked the breath out of me, filling me with pain that delved deep and ripped me apart. There was no one to hear my cries. Just like the last time. No answer. Not a word from her. Not even from the dead priestess. I woke up with ice in my eyes. Ice? How the fuck did that get in there? I wasn't gonna answer _that _question.

"I'm not supposed to fucking care, Carolyn! Get that through your fucking skull!" I remember saying. That's how the argument began. Catch was I was doing all the arguing. Not once did I hear her voice whispering back. Just that priestess ranting on about truly remembering and idiots coming after me and what not. I indulged her…sometimes.

But every now and again I would experience this prickling feeling that I was being watched by something other than Urzos. It would be then that I would feel the irrepressible urge to look at the sky and imagine_ she_ was looking back. And after five years, the details of her figure re-emerged in the corner of my eyes. Is that supposed to happen with dead people?

I ask myself the same question now on this Necro infested ship. Is it just me? And the need I can't conceal? No! It happened to the Elemental one night when she looked at me like I was being reconstructed before her eyes. It's happening to the horny beauty by my side. She can feel it. But she can't hear the humming… She asks me something before I reach for the door. The answer takes ages out of my life.

Back to the sensor readings. Back to having to deal with a highly suspicious Vaako. Back to the darkness of the crypt and Jack's silence.

But here I am not alone. And it's not the Elemental. It's not a Necro, though for a split second I half wished it was that cold beauty again. I have a feeling her I could deal with. The scent that lingers in the room is as bittersweet as _her_ memory. Is this good for me? It could be bad. What did that Aereon witch say?

If the dead decide to answer back…what will we say?

I give it a shot in my coolest voice:

"You just won't go away, will ya? Not quite getting the message yet? "

Something stirs behind my back as I cast a quick glance over my shoulder. This is something my shined vision can't quite pick. A shimmering figure, is my best guess.

"What? They give leaves out of the Afterlife, or you bribed the guards with booze? Tsk, tsk, picking up some nasty habits, huh? Can't leave you out my sight for a second or you'll just go off and do something monumentally stupid… Like coming after me…ain't it a shame you'll have to wait in line! Really, now's not the time to be all possessive. You had your chance, three chances if you want to get technical, and you blew it! " This is sure to bring out that hot-temperedness, if it really is her.

Silence. This miffs me. Fuck, it downright annoys me!

"Feeling a little shy, are we?"

Now my face is completely turned towards whatever is in the room…to _whoever I hope_ is in the room…

"Answer me, damn it! Fucking answer me! I not good at this fucking shit! I'm not good at missing you! Shit, you are _so_ my fucking nightmare!"

I feel it coming. You gotta give me that. I felt it in the sudden whoosh of air and in the sudden change in the scent that sent my mind 5 years ago, on a monster planet, during a cloud burst, in front of a patched up skiff. But I didn't _see_ it coming. Two hits. Sharp and angry as hell. Whatever it is, it's definitely human. I can hear the panting.

Be careful what you wish for, is what I used to say. Now I know why…

"Well, you are _so_ my _fucking _trauma!"

Of all the things she could've said…


	12. Chapter 12 Second Encounter

**A/N**

**Brimseye: thanks a bunch:)**

**Honey76: this was my first Riddick POV so I was kinda nervous about it:D glad you liked it!**

**HopeK: please don't tell, please don't tell, I'll be good :D**

**FitMama: thanks for the great review:)**

**Wild Horsefeathers8753: the moment I read that quote, I thought Riddick and Fry:D**

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**To all the people who read the story, who added the story on their lists, who keep reviewing, this is for you! I hope you like it! Enjoy!**

Second encounter

Sometimes I dream of wanting things I cannot have. Sometimes I even _want _things I cannot have. Now I know how stupid that is. How utterly…stupid. Now…when I'm facing the things I want most…one gone and the other so far away there's an eternity between us…the irony of it all bites back harder than anything I've ever hunted. Life's a bitch…and to top it all you can't even die to get out.

I was looking at Jack lying dead under a glass pane, so resemblant of a cryotube, thinking that maybe I would have done her a favor by pulling that blasted handle, when he came in. He didn't even realize I was in the same chamber, or in the same Universe, for that matter, but then again I was supposed to be dead, wasn't I? Wished I stayed that way…would have been easier…Don't you think I imagined this moment? Maybe even dreaded it?... Dear Lord, how many times… All I had to do was extend my hand and reach his warm body, pulsating with life…a life a Deep Space Wraith can no longer conceive, let alone remember. He was breathing hard, with anger and sorrow…and something that looked like frustration.

That was new. On the other hand, the range of emotions we experienced together was sort of restricted , varying from him being a smug fuck to my being afraid for my dignity rather than for my life, so I could have been wrong. Figured it had something to do with those readings he couldn't make any sense of. To hell with his instincts…we had a hard time riding in the wake of the huge Eta ship undetected, as it was, without him having those useless Commanders running sensor scans every other hour. Only after we ran a bioscan on the Kumary and ascertain that he had vacated the older and less protected parts of the ship, did I risk attempting a stealth docking with a modified Ner'uda Garreth, my chief engineer, had appropriately baptized _The Leech_. So far so good. I was undetected on the enemy vessel. And I had every intention of staying that way.

That is until Mr. Lone Outlaw himself deigned to snap out of his reverie and notice he wasn't alone in the room. The Hunter in me saw the prey tense for the kill. I know that because I instinctively readied my blades. But there was no strike. Just Riddick in his cool baritone voice talking casually as if _we_ were continuing a discussion temporarily suspended.

_He was talking to me…_

Impossible, my mind rallied. He couldn't see me, no with the Yautja cloak on, not even with his shined vision. He couldn't smell me either, not after five years of Deep Space and hundreds of recovery jobs. Hell, I didn't even smell of antiseptic anymore. Carolyn's scent had long died on me.

I took a good look at him. Trying to process him, like I did with anyone that crossed my path. He underwent a Hunter's evaluation. My skills as a Wraith only revealed what Carolyn had known all along, but wisely chose, like a good girl that she was, to ignore.

Quite simply, the man was in pain. Not only suppressed emotional pain, but also physical pain, coming from the heavy bulge in his pants, that needed a trophy case of its own. Apparently, the damn thing never subsided. Believe me, I should know. Whatever he had throbbing in there, it was cold-proof, rain-proof, danger-proof, you name it.

Finally his words hit home. _Wait in line?! Had your chance, but blew it?!_

Why, the narcissistic, self-obsessed, jaw-jacking, pompous ass…

Don't listen to his crap. He had his chance…back in the skiff. If he was such a good mind fuck, he would have thought of something. And now he's throwing it all in my face, just because he didn't want something bad enough to get it? The deranged imbecile!

The Hunter in me was itching to skin his ass. But I stayed put.

Don't give him the satisfaction. Offer no release.

Thing is, there was something _other_ than the Hunter itching inside me. I was a bit confused as to who was offering – or _not_ offering – release to whom.

Shit, I _was_ feeling shy! And somewhat annoyed… But, as always, his eyes, his strange silvery eyes, got the best of me…and that was not necessarily a good thing.

_I'm not good at missing you! Shit, y__ou are so my fucking nightmare! _

Is that so?! Before I knew what I was doing, two of my fists connected with his body and his jaw. This was hard on him? I was too angry to control my breathing, which was now loud enough for him to pick up.

So, he spent five years at minus-something degrees? Totally his decision!

So, he's part of some race that nearly went extinct at the hands of Eta low-life? Save the fucking drama for someone who gives a shit!

So, he lost the people he cared for in his own badass way? Well, join the club!

So, he misses me? I miss him too! And, fuck, it hurts! It hurts like Xeno- burns! Like acid blood eating away through your skin! I swear, he's like a fuckin' soul cancer!

_Well, you are so my fucking trauma!_

Great, now we were both angry and confused. He actually looked surprised at my response. What was I supposed to say? Gee, Riddick, long time, no see, how've you been? Sorry I didn't go through with all the dying and stuff, but you see, turns out we had audience for our little tour de force and they rescued me so they could kill me some more and do their biding while I was at it?

Instead, I did something else – how did he call it? – _monumentally stupid._ I uncloaked myself. And simply said:

"Dying is messy and unpleasant. Stay away from it."

I was expecting some kind of shock. Some kind of sign of disbelief. Maybe some angry words, a long string of curses, something in the line of "what the…". I was even prepared for him to put a shiv on my neck. To tell you the truth, I was looking forward to that. It was something I could handle.

What I couldn't handle was the silence between us and the calmness that settled over his features. Like some kind of inner anxiety had been quelled. His probing eyes hungrily took in every detail of my face. Except Lya, no one had seen so much of my face ever since I was born to DS. But his gaze lingered on the mark on my forehead and the unnatural looking skin – a side effect of too much scarring and too many rec-jobs. Or so I thought. His gaze shifted. I think he was looking at my hair, for some unfathomable reason.

_Say something, say something, say something._

I opened my mouth to give an explanation, any explanation, but he cut me off.

"Do I look like I wanna know?"

Now, I was the one staring in disbelief. He just smirked, with relief painted all over his face. Typical.

"What? You, _this_ – he said waving a hand at me – make more sense that half of the shit that's been going on here."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Richard B. Riddick, escaped convict, murderer and overall headache, current throne-warmer for the Necromongers? Come on… " I said, arching an eyebrow.

"Don't forget the Furyan bit."

"Oh, that…I refuse to acknowledge that – and the whole Gift of Sight crap!" I replied rudely pointing a finger at him. "I am strictly a 20 menthol Kools kinda girl. Though, why an earth would you willingly let a bovine veterinarian poke a stick in your eyeballs during an eleven hours stop on Ursa Luna is quite beyond me."

I was being serious, but, as usual, my seriousness endlessly amuses him.

"That was in my early days."

"Before you what? Reduced your visits to anything from two minutes to two hours?"

"Hey, don't believe everything you hear."

"Whatever…"

I smiled. No fear, no awkwardness, no loneliness. Not anymore. Not between us. I was going to argue something about the…_pain_…but I was sooo not ready to go there just yet. I could feel the old Carolyn stirring up inside me.

His smirk broadened. Damn it, I swear he could tell.

"What took you so long?" he gently scolded.

"Jesus, Riddick, don't go all mushy on me now. There are _things to be done"_, I said casting a furtive glance at Jack, "things you need to know about the place you're heading to. So let's keep the Bad Boy routine for just a little while longer, ok?" I was seething with impatience. "Time's a wastin'"

"Lucky you, I know how much you hate people wasting your time."

"Punk… You wanna get hit again?" I balled my fists.

"You could try…But I warn you, it still hurts from the first time you bashed me a good one. By the way, that one doesn't count." He said, while he was rubbing his jaw. There was a point somewhere in there. I doubt he would've played punching sack without me wearing the cloak. Though I'm pretty good with surprise attacks, with or without the cloak.

"Who are you to talk about fair play? And just so you know, it's _you_ I hate wasting my time. I'm fine with other people."

He was about to make a smart ass reply, when I heard something in my earcom.

"Oh, just shut up for a second!"

Remarkably, he complied. Then I heard Lya's voice:

"Yo, Captain! Cut the small talk, you've got Necro biosigns comin' your way."

"Who?"

"Two females. No weaponry detected."

"Great!" I all but growled, giving Riddick the most unsubtle death-glare I could manage.

"What?" He asked innocently. I gotta admit, it was a nice try, but innocence and Riddick simply cannot coexist in the same 'verse.

"Jesus, you building a fuckin' harem over here?! We've got incoming, two females."

"You know me, I don't like wasting time…"

Traumatic, isn't he? He don't talk much, now you know why.

They were really close, I could feel it. My wrist blades came out. You never know what these skinny bitches are up to. But, in truth, it was not in _my_ protection the blades came out. As I heard the determined footfalls down the corridor, I wondered if it was even _in protection_.

Riddick looked at my face then at the shiny blades then back at my face. He seemed puzzled.

"One of these days, Carolyn, you have got to tell me what goes on in that little head of yours…"

"But not today… Not today."

That was the last thing I said before I turned the cloak back on.


	13. Chapter 13 Again

**A/N: **

**Thanks to all the constant reviewers and all those who read my story:) you guys make me happy!**

**This is another shot at a Riddick POV so be nice and tell me if I got it right. Enjoy!**

Again

That woman's hair is an endless temptation for me. One of those things I take for granted and not bother to question them. If only a stranded, stolen lock has the power to send my body into overdrive, I am not particularly inclined to see what nasty effects the whole damn thing would have on my already over-ridden senses. It looks clean, even when it's not. And clean is not something a guy like me has come across very often. All I needed to see was her short blonde hair that curls in the back of her neck - though she obviously hacks at it every time she gets the chance – and everything else was forgotten…the odd mark on her forehead, the pale scarred skin, even the claw marks that snaked up her neck… I suddenly felt the urge of bending her over, rip the back of her clothes off and see for myself the graphic evidence of something that _should have never been. Not for me._ But the familiar uneasiness of being alone with me in enclosed spaces was readable across her face. Somehow the smell, however, did not change…_ Interesting_.

This was going nowhere, not with her mentally chastising herself. I had to make her talk, even if it was only to have her lash at me. She was good at it. I saw her make mince meat out of Billy Bad Ass himself. I needed her seething with anger and something…else, like a good Carolyn that she was. I needed her back and not only in flesh.

But after all the bickering, I meant what I said. I didn't want to know. She came to me. Again. Like I asked her to. And things were good once more… Well, as good as they can ever get, under the circumstances. Whatever – whoever – had given her back to me would come and collect her, eventually. I wasn't that lucky. Nothing in my life had come without a struggle. Not even _her_. Not even _them_. But this was not the time to think about that. I could hear the two Necro women approaching. I knew they were coming, even before she got the call from whoever called her Captain now. Didn't feel like telling her, though. Wasn't planning to make it easy on her. Why should I be the only one hard and loaded around here? And it worked too. She responded just as I thought she would…minus the blades. Those came as a surprise. Shit, I've never thought I'd be jealous at a _woman's _ blades before. Even the kid's makeshift shivs looked kinda silly to me. This was something I had never seen before, in all my military years. Intricate pattern, unknown metal, apparently very light – Carolyn had strong arms, I already knew that, but the way they glided so easily at a simple flick of the hand, I could only imagine the precision with which they were made, unlike the unevenly balanced weapons they kept around here – and very sharp by the sound of them unsheathing. The look that accompanied them was even more puzzling. This was Carolyn at a whole new level. And then she pulled a disappearing act on me. Oh, screw her! I had incoming.

"Your Commander's wife?! Jesus, Riddick, what have you been doing? Who have you been doing? " the invisible woman behind me said as soft as an angry person receiving info over her headset can manage.

"What's it to you?" teasing Carolyn, I had decided a long time ago, was my all time favorite game. Better than _who's the better killer_. Because it made me the best and most sadistic killer.

She had the indignity to laugh.

"You know, statistically speaking, after long periods of being sexually inactive, the average male tends to lose…potency."

"Who you callin' average?"

"Not one for modesty, eh? Ok, shows on. Ditch them fast!"

"By your evaluation that's the only way for me, hm?"

She was silent. And those Necro broads were getting close. Carolyn was right. This was no time to sit and chat, no matter how inviting the tall horny blonde had been. Or that slithering lawfully wedded snake. They were arguing.

"Enough of this, Dame Vaako. I have done your bidding. My duty to The Holy One is fulfilled. Why proceed any further? Listen to reason and let it be!" my blonde follower said trying to catch her breath.

"What Holy One? He isn't even Half Holy yet! And I know enough of your wicked ways to distrust your professed accomplishments. You smell of your own sex, _fair _Gwendolen. You have disgraced yourself and the rest of us. But all is not lost. There is still time to fix this error!" Vaako's woman hissed. So there was a name to that face. Gwendolen.

"Fix?! How? Offering yourself as a sacrifice to the unappeased beast? There are easier ways to die, you know! "

The girl had some brains attached to that pretty head of hers. They were in the darkened chamber. The Vaako woman squinted her eyes, and Gwendolen moved apprehensively. She had been in this situation before and knew better. I could feel Carolyn's blades poking my back so I moved to grace them with my presence.

"Why is there dissension between my women?" Take that, Captain, those blades were uncomfortable.

Dame Vaako jumped slightly but just as quickly regained her composure.

Swaying her curvy body towards me she spoke in sweet-sick tones:

"My Lord Marshal, how can I ever amend for such a shameful behavior?" How, indeed? My beastly self wondered also. Once more her hands were dancing around me, on me… doing me a service by stirring up feisty Carolyn-in-denial behind me. Impotency, my ass!

"It is our way, you see, but I take full blame for Lady Gwendolen's fault. She has been greatly affected by…recent events. She is not worthy of the Necromonger way!" she said through barred teeth, throwing daggers at her Gwendolen with an aim that rivaled mine. This was getting interesting, the power game between the two women. If I pushed hard enough, would they go at each other?

"Unlike...you?" I smirked.

"Loyalty until Underverse come…" she purred, breathing me in.

I had to laugh at that…and screw her brain a little longer, for both my sake and Gwendolen's. Why be a liability, when she could be an asset?

"And that is what I demand of all my followers. Gwendolen has been loyal. And eager to please…perhaps a little too eager?" I raised an eyebrow meant for Gwendolen.

That completely sent the Vaako woman off track. She had miscalculated her opponent's resilience. And now the tables had turned against her in such a way that all she could manage was a small "ohh".

"It would be wise to leave now, Dame Vaako, and leave Lord Marshal to his rest. He must be weary with much toil. The pilgrimage has begun. Let us go and pray for safe passage over the Holy Threshold." Gwendolen wanted out of the room and her edgy voice did not hide the feeling well. Something in here, beside me and the girl, had triggered an acute flight response. She was on the verge of grabbing Dame Vaako's arm and yank her out of the room. She looked, felt and smelled like a cornered animal. It was not me she feared…viscerally feared.

Incontrollable shiver in her tall body that seemed to shrink under the irrational fear, blood surge to her head and eyes moving aimlessly. Dame Vaako was none the wiser. She hissed and puffed and retreated with a reverence. Gwendolen followed suit.

"Well, that was fun!" Carolyn materialized again.

I turned and took a good look at her. Took in the details of her being one more time. Answers, I needed answers. Something was stealing Carolyn away from me. An alien feeling of unrest crept into my blood. Have to know what I'm up against if I am to state my claim. As simple as that.

"What happened to you?"

There was no remorse in her voice.

"I was going to go through with the deal, Riddick… I swear I was. One moment I was dying the other…I was so hollow…so _not me_. I did horrible things. I did it. Nobody made me do it. I can't even hold that against them. I am worse than you, worse than those fucking things…because there is no justification for my acts. I truly am a Killer of Men."

She told me everything. The Hunt, the Baptism, the Kill, the Wraith Squads, the Raids…Deep Space. The nightmare of every rookie training in arms. Skinned bodies, missing bodies. The unseen enemy. Predators. And it was that spook of my military days that took Carolyn away from me.

"This Underverse they speak of is a stellar nursery. Basically space/time in formation. It has a strange effect on anyone caught in its proximity. The Eta were the first ones to investigate the phenomenon and it is believed that they thus became the Necromongers. Like cunning scavengers. I still don't know how they succeeded to replicate themselves in the Expanse…maybe some sort of trans-dimensional mutation is my best guess. With the technology they borrowed from the Preds perhaps it could be done. I don't know."

"If there is even the slightest chance…" I stared at the crypt…so this is what hope feels like?...

"It's worth a risk…any risk!"

Back to Carolyn's intent little face. Brave, good girl…a do-right-girl even when she's mad at me. About that…

"Wait a minute…something doesn't add up. So you're sayin' them Preds watched everything that went down on that planet and were interested in what _you did_? They have really got to re-evaluate their standards. "

Her eyes flew wide open.

"You're fucking with me, I know you are…"

"You know I am? Truth is I'm too tired after all the fucking around I'm supposed to do around here."

She gasped. I nudged her mouth closed, ignoring her backing away from me. Did she somehow go around the fact that we were stuck together…that she was stuck with me? Most definitely. I could read her well.

"Back to this theory of yours."

"Here's the plan…"

Got to hand it to her. Her plan making is as good as mine. I'm just better at sticking to them.

"If we're gonna do this, I have to know a few things. Since we ain't got time to assess your strengths, tell me your weakness."

"What, you mean, besides you?"

"Neah, I'm a soft spot. Concentrate Carolyn!"

"My response time is really good, good flexibility and I can take a fair amount of pain without cringing. Drugs don't work, guns is good, blades or spears are better. But I lack in strength…in muscle. But you've got that covered, so I should be ok."

Smartass.

"You're a strategic advantage, if there ever was one…know-it-all Carolyn." I laughed…yes…at her expense.

"Out of everything I just told you, all you care to praise are my deductive skills?"

"Seen everything else before." Bluntly said. But I was just messin' with her…or like she likes to say…fucking with her.

"I really do not have time for this shit!" she all but growled. "Just give me the info you picked up when you weren't busy…fucking around!"

I gave her the pad with the results of my snooping around.

"Wow, no cave paintings?"

Sarcastic Know-it-all smartass.

"This is civilization, Carolyn. Thought I should be civilized."

"…or?"

"Or act civilized."

"Pretend is more like it."

But her mind was caught in making sense of those readings. Absorbed, actually. I, along with the rest of the Universe, was forgotten. So I plopped on a nearby chair and sat looking at her crossed legged figure on the cold floor. Analyzing, processing, figuring things out. But here, nonetheless. With me. And for the first time on this fucking ship, with these screwed up people, I felt something akin to safety.

I drifted off, my animal side still in alert. I could no longer ignore how really tired I was. Tired of being alone, once I knew what not being alone felt like. And did I ever feel it…long after I closed my aching eyes… cold forehead leaning against my knee…soft breathing, trying to hold on to the ghost of the past…my hand fisting the blonde hair of the present…and this time _not letting go!_


	14. Chapter 14 Human Nature

**A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers for reviewing and to my silent readers for reading:D sorry for the late update, but I was very busy with college work and free time has seemed to run off...somewhere... but, as there was promise of cake if I get a new chapter up, I basically got to work. unfortunately, it's not one of my best chapters but it's all I could come up with. blame it on the stress, I know I do:(**

**Nevertheless, I still hope you'll Enjoy it!**

"_Come on, babe, time to get up and get goin'!"_

"_It'd be easier if you weren't scalping me! Get off!"_

"_What? Like now?"_

"_You have a sick mind, Riddick! Honest to God!"_

"_No one ever said differently!"_

There was a loud chuckle probably accompanied by a huge ass grin. Couldn't tell. Video was off, audio only. Not that I really minded or anything. I always thought that my Captain was kinda funny, but Riddick was so out there. And together they were downright earth-shatteringly hilarious. I mean it. There was this vibe when they got together.

"They rock!"

"No, it's just the ship riding in this monster wake. Takes quite a toll on the engines, mind you. Wait. What are you doing?"

Sometimes Garreth's British accent can sound so offended. Captain said that. I took her word for it – never figured out what a British accent really is, but I must be something the Chief has.

"Watching over my Captain. In case you haven't noticed, she's down there with a ship full of alien hostiles."

"You're eavesdropping!"

"Am not!"

"You so are!"

"Hey! Riddick is the only other person in this 'verse who knows more about the Captain of the Kumary than we do."

"You were _there_, Lya. You know what happened. You saw how Carolyn Fry, second class pilot on the Hunter-Gratzner came to be the Wraith of Deep Space. What more do you need to know? For all intents and purposes, you already know more than that man down there does."

Was that sarcasm in his voice?

"A whole lot more, Garreth, a whole lot more…" I counter back.

But his comment caught me off-guard. It's that feeling again. And I can no longer look the Chief in the eye. I_ was _there. I saw those people die. But when she fell prey to the Hammerhead, I made a decision. Without thinking if it was the right thing to do. And that is the fundamental difference between the Universe and Deep Space: they decide who dies, we decide who lives.

I was under orders. No matter the consequences, Scarback was to return to DS, with or without the liberation of the Hunting Grounds. The Elder had made it abundantly clear: even if it meant killing the last vestige of her humanity. For years I had wondered what that was. Every time the Wraith Squads were sent to enforce Order, on every Hunt we took part in, I watched my Captain dealing swiftly with life and death with a Wraith's detached efficiency. And I thought to myself: what is it that stays her hand in some cases and makes her violently deadly in others? Yautja torture – or what they would call training at the hands of the rec-jobs – has taught her to bear it all with a Hunter's resilience and patience. To wait for the right moment to go for the kill. But it was her humanity that kept the insanity within acceptable parameters. The pain and shock of the recovery surgeries can break even the best of the Preds. Because of they're powerful nature, they are not subject to pain on regular basis. Yautja resilience is tested only in the Hunts. Wraiths get injured even in the most routine missions. DS dwellers don't shoot to wound, they go for the final blow. There's no middle ground. But the Captain made it through it all. In her, Carolyn is still strong. Silent, but strong. How can one kill that off? How can one destroy it?

These are the questions that ravage my mind as I watch the human female and the Furyan Alpha together. And the lightness with which they handle each other serves only to fuel the hot debate further. Do I choose to ignore the obvious answer? I would seem this is the only way to deal with it at this point. The Vast Legion is approaching the wards of Deep Space. From there on it can go no further. The borders are fiercely secured. The Trinian is patrolling the area. Under its command a great number of ships are ready to open fire the moment the Necro ships come in line. The bomb-pads we all wear on our left hands have enough power to blow a hole in the verse. Chief explained to me that with some good targeting, we could set a chain reaction that would activate the Ascension Protocol on the Necro mothership. Wipe them out with their own weapons. But that's only the contingency plan. And it's up to the Captain to make sure things don't go that far. The whole point is to free both the Hunting Grounds and the Hunted.

They're on the right track, though. Riddick's…err…_proficiency_… and Captain's cleverness make for one hell of a combination. Speaking of hell…

"What in the name of the holy moo-cow is going on?"

"Besides you swearing like a 5 year old? They're slowing down…time to scram out of here before we become a pain in the ass…literally!"

"What about the Captain? She's still on the mothership…"

That's not right, right? Leaving your Captain behind, right? Ooookay, we're going too fast….

"Garreth, doesn't this thing have like breaks or something?"

"Recalculate trajectory and pull out of the wake!"

Damn the autopilot on this ship! Slows down your reflexes!

"Captain, come in! The ship's gone to a halt! We gotta pull away or we'll be right on your sun! Captain, do you read?"

Panic is never good. It's a noisy, violent killer! But the Captain is so calm, her voice so even…

"_Loud and clear! And don't you think that's a problem? Get out of there!_"

I take over the controls and abruptly turn away from the legion's backside. But the force of the giant wake is still powerful and I can't fully control the Kumary's navigational system with the cloak still activated. There's a shit load of pressure on the engines right about now. That's Garreth's problem, not mine, and he knows it. Maybe I should remind him, though…

"Chief, I need more juice!"

His voice is muffled over the coms by what I can only think is steam. Steam…soo not good!

"This is just about everything I can give you with the cloak on!"

I try no to giggle at the obvious innuendo. Giggling in potentially – ok, so maybe we're a little past that – dangerous circumstances is not very wise. Wait…here's an idea:

"What if I deactivate the cloaking device for a short while? The Necro sensors should pick us up as debris…OH!"

Whoosh! Big chunk of honkin' rock just passed by us. That was close! This gives a whole new meaning to the scum of the verse reputation the Eta build in DS.

"Do it!"

Here goes nothing…please don't be looking, please don't be looking… The engines roar to life and the death grip of the wake is lessened….please, don't give up on me, please don't give up on me… The Kumary veers right and away from the Vast Legion and its Captain. Invisible once more, I hit the coms to the engine room:

"You know, Chief, for a guy with half a dick, you can sure pump some life into those babies!"

"Yes, well, Ethel and Gerta don't have very high standards!"

He actually named the twin engines of the number one Wraith Vessel in Deep Space Ethel and Gerta?!

"Ohh, the sluts!"

Smack!

"Oww, that hurt!" I yelp at the sneaking Garreth and his surprise attack, while rubbing my throbbing scalp.

"Good! So now what?"

I eye the halting Necro ship through the view screen. The ship my Captain is currently stranded on.

"Now we wait. The Captain's gonna show up some time."

"Hmmm…"

Chief's gone into deep thinking. He is not a man easily deceived. The importance of our Captain to her Yautja clan is not unknown to him. However, he always seemed to be more responsive to that elusive humanity of hers than to the condescending Wraith personality. But that's probably because they're more human than I am. They had a life in the Verse some time ago, whereas I was born on one of the settlements of DS.

"Do you think she will stop running away?"

"From what?" I think Garreth's up to something.

"From whatever Riddick is for her."

There's a mind boggling notion right there.

"What do you mean? He is her charge. She saved his life, he is her responsibility."

Garreth smiles patronizingly at me.

"Spoken like a true Yautja Hunter."

"But I am not that."

"Perhaps. But you were bread into thinking like that. Humans…well…verse dwellers don't think that way. Saving one's life is not always an act of duty. It is in human nature to protect people we like. And sometimes we like people despite their many faults…despite however wrong it may seem."

His words struck a cord deep within me. In my mind I replayed the events of that long ago night on Taurus. I even recalled my own conflicting emotions as I watched those people being eaten alive by swarms of aliens. And the irrepressible need to avenge and protect the blonde woman, lying torn on the muddy ground.

Garreth watched me with knowing eyes.

"You believed that Carolyn returned for Riddick because she was his Captain and no one gets left behind. Or maybe because she was showing her gratitude for his services to them. You still believe it. And so does the Elder and all the Yautja that have heard about Scarback's story. In a way, she believes it also. But the human in her…well, let's just say that the war inside of her is no less important than the war we are about to wage against the Necromongers."

"So… what is there left for us to do?"

"We wait…"

There was a long period of silence in which we were both lost in thought, I, unraveling the mystery that was Captain's humanity and him, probably doing the exact same thing. But there was commotion in the Legion. The Chief and I tensed up and just as a small vessel was exiting the ship's bay we heard the coms kick in:

"_Kumary, this is your Captain speaking. Stand by for your orders…_"


	15. Chapter 15 Always

**Disclaimer: Not Mine! Definitely!**

**A/N: well, I'm kinda proud of this chapter:) but I would REALLY like to know what you think. reviews are a major encouragement, be them good or bad. I'd like to know if I'm going in right direction with this story. all that said, ENJOY!**

Always

I _so _knew this was going to happen. Not that the thought of it, of such proximity, is always, ALWAYS on my mind, and that his existence has become _necessary_ – and there are no words that could explain or emphasize that enough - for my survival, both physical and mental, but the signs were so clear, have been clear for such a long time that it was no surprise to me. A little annoying, I give you that – after all, I had been unbearably alone even before the crash – but not altogether shocking.

The moment I saw him ungraciously plopping on one of the chairs in the room, shielding his probably hurting eyes with his hand and oblivious to the surroundings, I knew. He seemed so weary all of a sudden. The Hunter in me assessed that the great beast had finally reached its limits. However, the code of honor that bound me to the Yautja way prohibited any wounding of the prey when not in full control of its powers. That would just be too lowly a thing to do. And it wasn't like Riddick – bless him! – was in any way unprepared. But he seemed to purposefully ignore the part of me that would oh-so-gladly skin his murderin' hall-of-fame-worthy ass. Just as he passed out – as out as he's capable of, anyway – my mind simply refused to take in the information I was currently looking into. So, I found myself reaching for his slumbering figure. I had lost everything: my virtue, my integrity, my life, my humanity…hell, why not blow away my dignity too while I'm at it. Because all I had to hold on to now was this giant of a man, an outcast and a killer, who had accepted my resurrection and my general mental instability with uncomfortable – for me, that is – ease.

Damn it, he made everything so complicated. Without even breaking a sweat. As a matter of fact, I was the one doing all the sweating and panting. And I was so tired of fighting whatever it was that drew me inexplicably back to him. I gave up. So, I rested my forehead against his knee and imagined that, for a moment, I was exactly where I wanted to be and that I had everything I ever wanted to have. For one moment, I was back to being Carolyn and, this time around, accepting all those hints he kept none to subtly throwing at me. And it felt good, when it should have been wrong. Just because he was always so warm and I had been cold for so long that I could not remember what it felt like to simply enjoy the presence of someone else in close proximity. And – don't you know it – his hand snaked its way in my hair and fisted itself around it. Well, there you go…and I thought I was possessive. Guess this is what happens when you get an Alpha male and a territorial female together…Guess this is what happens when you get the two of us together. We slept.

I knew exactly when he woke up because at some point his death grip on my hair had gone a lil' too tight and now he was massaging my scalp to ease the pain.

"Come on, babe, time to get up and get goin'!"

"It'd be easier if you weren't scalping me! Get off!"

"What? Like now?"

"You have a sick mind, Riddick! Honest to God!"

"No one ever said differently!"

Well, he did have a point there. It kinda came with the muscle-bound, tanned-ass package. Did I just say that? Cause he was looking at me intently, drilling holes in my skull with those shined eyes. In a mock-serious tone he said:

"Captain, get your mind out of the gutter, will ya?"

I want to hurt him. Severely.

"I will hurt you. Severely."

He gave me one of those half smiles of his that made me wish for something worse that he was. No such luck for me. This day sucks beyond belief. That reminds me…

"We're getting close to the Threshold. That's as far as this Armada goes, Lord Marshal!"

That's it, play it cool. We're both getting a little soft in the ass. And mine actually hurts. At least he slept in the cushioned chair not on some hard Necro crypt floor.

"There's some stupid ass ritual I've got to go through as self appointed head honcho around here. It's supposed to mark the beginning of my journey to the Afterlife."

"Ritual?!" Are you kidding me? There's no fucking way…

"Some hoodoo holy shit the Elemental and Gwendolen were yapping about. Good luck and god speed…that sort of crap. Whatever. "

Where's a camera when I need one? Riddick and rituals…go fucking figure!

"You do that and I'll contact my ship. Remember, it's just you and me on this mission. The idea of_ you _with unlimited powers is frightening enough. Don't need a partner in arms, now, do we?"

"Not much of a change then, huh?" he flippantly added over his shoulder as he exited the room and left me on my own. This was his way of saying I trust you…or it could be just another Riddick attempt of dumping me in a world of crap while he's out performing some shitty, self-centered, adulating, top of the crap pathetic ritual with the sky high blonde doing everything but holding his balls…o, wait, she already did that…while I'm stuck here undoing the mess he's done of things! And I will personally rip the spinal cord out of anyone who says he's not enjoying this!

Great! I worry about my sanity when I get like this. Hold up…were slowing down. Jesus, the man sure does move fast. Time to check on the Kumary:

"Kumary, come i…."

"…_n! The ship's gone to a halt! We gotta pull away or we'll be right on your sun! Captain, do you read?"_

Sometimes my senior officers don't come off so hot.

"Loud and clear! And don't you think that's a problem? Get out of there!"

I wish I was back on the Kumary right about now. I'm a pilot after all. I don't like other people abusing my ship. They'll pull out of the wake ok, though. Despite her rash actions, Lya can work miracles at the helm. My only concern now is to secure safe passage through the Expanse. And get Jack back. Yeah, about that… how do I do that? Jack's face is motionless and free of any signs of decay. But this is not _my _Jack. She's not the twelve year old I met on a dessert planet five years ago. She's not the girl whose childish warmth I shared in a dark cave when she thought he wasn't coming back. I laughed at her expense but she was right: she was a whole new animal. She DID act like a merc. She DID smell like a whore…hell, she'd probably been one too. And she DID die like an idiot. Bravely, but still like an idiot.

Then it downed on me. The reason I hated _Kyra_ so much. She reminded me of all the things I hated about myself. Carolyn Fry was this close to royally fucking Riddick over. If I had been so righteous indeed, I would have told him about Johns' plans. Carolyn Fry was a pilot…and as every female pilot, I got down on my knees a couple of times in some space port or another. And, finally, Carolyn Fry died like an idiot. There is no going around that. It was pointless. No greater goal was achieved. Both Imam and Jack were dead. And Riddick was…just that, Riddick. He was a survivor. I was just one more person he had lost along the way. So, why was I dead set on bringing her back? Riddick I could understand. She worshipped him. She went looking for him. Asshole as he was, he'd never declined responsibility for the harm inflicted upon his victims. All prison psych-evaluations said that. In his sociopath reckoning, Jack was a responsibility. Every slam shrink would tell you that. I think he simply likes kids. Not like _that_! Get your mind out of the gutter, people! No, he's just incapable of harming them. Think of it like a code of honor. Preds are the same. If women can become eventual targets when hunts are not gender specific, children are always protected. They are not worthy enough prey, but they could one day become so. But until then, no harm is to come to them. Same goes with Riddick. And to top it all, children seem to like him in return. I saw the reports about the connection he had formed with Imam's daughter (don't go asking me how Lou'An found out about that, I really, really don't care to find out). _Cute._ In a Universe that was from it. Whoever this new animal was…Jack, Kyra, Necromonger…she was still my charge. And it was _my responsibility_ to bring her back. I made her a promise.

_I would never leave you sweetheart._

I intended to keep it. It was not even a matter of choice. Somewhere along the way, it had become instinct.

I said I would try for them.

I said I would die for them.

And here I was, doing exactly that.

Enough! Focus, Carolyn, dammit! Time to check on Riddick. No sense in contacting the Kumary. They were probably out of range by now and needed to remain silent anyway. So I cloaked and ran the length of the corridor. I had to reach the Basilica and avoid the Lensor thingies. As I left the more remote parts of the Necro ship behind me, the great halls got more and more crowded. I clung to the shadows as long as possible, while following the herd of dutiful Necromongers that were gathering to see the ceremony Riddick spoke of. There was the slitherin' bitch the Lord Marshal was not particularly fond of swaying her curvy body this way and that. Necromonger high-ups were bowing politely, clearing a path through the ever increasing mob. But there was something in the air…or rather the _air_ itself. Aereon, the Elemental, looked out of place among the pale skins and black robes. She was shimmering…in my direction. I sauntered over to her, knowing full well she could feel the disturbance in the air my cloak could not hide. I was so close to her my breath stirred her consistency.

"Speak and I will make you scream your worth, Destroyer of Worlds."

The time will come when this one Elemental will know the true meaning of pain. I'll make sure of that. For Imam. For Jack. For Riddick himself. Her final betrayal will not go unpunished.

She seemed to calculate her odds. And decided against disregarding my threat. Good for her. I moved on. I made my way through the entranced crowd. What a bunch of loosers! No wonder they were so worthless for the Yautja. But it was that blonde woman that caught my attention. It had happened before, in the crypt, it happened again now. She stopped dead in her tracks just as I got within 30 feet of her. This one was familiar with a Yautja cloak. Not with the technology, of course, but with the feeling of having a Hunter stalking you. Tall, strong build, fair complexion…most definitely from a cold planet. Cold planets make excellent grounds for the Kainde Amedha Chiva. Xenomorphs favor warm, hot places. A Yautja is more than willing to put up with a little freezing if it means a decrease in Hard Meat's response time. So, Gwendolen or whatever her name is, comes from such a planet. Fear of the Great Hunt is probably ingrained in her genetic structure. Cool! She fears the mere concept of what I am. A Yautja Hunter. Hmm! I think I'm starting to like the girl.

Lots of bowing is going on around me. A guy with a funky hairdo and military looking outfit makes a modest entrance. Aha, so this must be the repenting Commander. A yes-man from his greasy black hair to his metal clad toes. How does a cut-throat, back-stabbing, ass-kissing, over-achieving bitch like that Vaako woman marry a run-of-the-mill guy like him? These people are sick. Really, really sick. And Riddick is their current overly-sick leader. What are the odds? I stifle a chuckle. Sir Shiv-a-lot takes the throne, plays a little I-know-you're-there-I-just-choose-not-to-see-you game with me and the ceremony begins. I knew it! I even told someone, I can't remember who, so! Necromongers are a threat…yep…of boring me to death! Two minutes into the ceremony and I'm ready to ask for mercy. Riddick better be worth it…He. Better. Be. Fucking. Worth. It.

Ok, so maybe that didn't come out right. My mind is still firmly anchored in the gutter. Oh, joy! But – finally! – Riddick puts an end to the festivities. Abruptly, bless his dark lil', microscopic, bordering on non-existent heart! He announces his intention to journey to the Underverse, there are a lot of _ohhhhs _and _ahhhs _coming from the audience, when the Commander feels obliged to throw his two cents in it:

"I will journey by your side, my Lord Marshal! The path is perilous and if my life serves the cause you represent, I will gladly concede it!"

Did that make any freaking sense?! I'm ready to object from the top of my lungs, but Riddick approves in equally mind-blowing fashion and the Commander is a happy camper once more. I do wish he'd tell me about these things beforehand. Cause he knew! The sadistic beast knew! And here I am doing frantic backstrokes in a pool of crap! Typical. Fucking Riddick typical. Ohhh, that gutter sure looks a lot better from the shit I'm currently sinking in.

I catch up with him in a suspiciously empty corridor.

"Haven't you heard three's a crowd?" I ask belligerently.

"Haven't you heard three's a lucky charm?"

I stop and consider things for a while. He's not the type to go on a whim. He's got something planned. I mentally kicked myself for my error. Why would he trust me? He'd played these power games before and I fell for each and every one. He didn't know me. How could he? We'd only spent roughly 72 hours together in extreme circumstances. That doesn't necessarily bring out the best in people. And there is the more than significant fact that I was alive when by all intents and purposes I should be dead. It was too easy to fall back into our reciprocal jaw-jacking. I should have thought he would use it as a tactic to his advantage. Five years of training – gone down the drain…Fuck!

"We'll see about that later. Now is time to go!"

Goggles firmly encasing his eyes, he nods, probably amused by my less than enthusiastic retaliation.

"Cargo Bay's that way. Will take a Necro Glider."

He takes the lead and I try to back away, physically back away from his gravitational pull. Walk away, Carolyn, the Hunter urges. You know the ship is within rage. Lou'An could wipe them out in a heartbeat! I try to walk away, but I stumble. The world around me is crumbling. He turns his face towards me. There is darkness across his features. He extends a hand, inquisitively. This is familiar. I am still non-responsive. Run! Run! RUN! AWAY! NOW!

But he's gone beyond patience. He practically barked at me!

"Carolyn. Get. Your. Ass. In. Here."

Well, it seemed to do the trick, cause my legs are moving of their own accord. Towards him. This should feel wrong. But it doesn't.

"Why?"

He could've left me here. Why take the risk? It's not like he trusts me…

His reply is spoken in an extremely serious tone. Appallingly serious, actually.

"Because I happen to like your ass."

He always knows what to say. Always…


	16. Chapter 16 Secret Life

**to Hope K: Cake, yummy!**

**to FitMama: Glad you liked it! hope you like this one too:)**

**to the people who added me to their alert lists: Thank you very much! But don't shy away from the review button. I'd like to know what you liked (and didn't like) about my story. **

**to readers in general: reviews make me happy! don't you wanna make me happy?**

**A/N: come take a look into Riddick's secret life. thanks to Leonard Cohen for the inspiration:) Enjoy!**

Secret life

There is no one in sight. The giant ship is strangely quiet, but for Carolyn's easy breathing. She is waking up to my awareness. And probably to the trickling pain that I am trying to unceremoniously rub off. I had a revelation during our brief shut-eye. The past is finally catching up with me, with such a fury that I could never've imagined. And between cryptic Elementals and genocidal Necromongers, she is thrown in, this bane of my self-centered existence. The one who started all this mess to begin with. Because, honestly, you think I'd be here if it wasn't for her? I'd be long gone, and they'd be dead. No friends, no trust, no pain, no remorse. Yeah, she screwed that up big time.

She moved so fast through my life, this guilt ridden, mock-captain docking pilot, that I could have blinked and missed her altogether. But, unlike so many others before her, she stuck by. She did not think I was some sort of misunderstood hero figure. No adulation in eyes which, for me, were devoid of color. I was simply one way of getting off that rock in one piece, something her strong survival instincts could take advantage of. The ongoing power-game between the two of us fuelled her determination: she was not one to give up so easily – she had tried that before and found the taste a little sour. And just like she popped up in my life, she popped out of it. Just like that. And for some time, I thought she went to the trash can like all the others – our psycho-fuck family. Family, friends, trust. Hell of a legacy, Carolyn, thank you _sooo_ much. As if. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna loosen my grip on the woman now. No. No. These girls of mine, they get too naughty for their own good when I'm not around. Verdict's in: she's for keeps.

Aaah, but… She's glaringly awake. Fuck! Here we go… It amazes me, the effect I have on this woman. Apparently, I make her think things. Thinking too much leads to a very angry Carolyn. Angry Carolyn is bad for my back. Not in a good way.

Because, she pulls back with such violence against her own natural impulses that it rattles my blood. I used to think I didn't care if people lived or died. The kid taught me otherwise: I cared when she died. With Carolyn back in the game, I realized I cared _if she was alive_. A lot. And, like I said, I'm gonna keep her that way by whatever means necessary. I deserve this. The Great Fucker of Things owes me this much. There is no way I'm giving her back. And He's just gonna have to kiss my ass if that doesn't fit the grand scheme of things. After all, I could have just let the universe circle the drain…But did I? Am I? I'm playing by the posted rules here.

As for this blonde fury eyeing me disbelievingly, she has a thousand kisses deep wound to fix. I don't _do _emotional withdrawal. She owes me compensation. I just gotta nudge that in her stubborn little head. But this good girl of mine already knows it. She's seething with knowledge. From up the pale hair I toyed with, down to her toes and every other detour I'm trying really hard not to think about. And _hard_ is the operative word here. But that's my fault I guess. I was jaw-jacking her about something I already forgot earlier. No, wait, it was something about a flush situation. Or a gutter. Or Carolyn's general tendency to get all womanly on me. She hates me for that. And I suddenly remember the _other_ reason – except the back and the pain and the loud noises that come out of her mouth – why it's not good to be around her when she gets like that. Makes me wanna do things. _Severely_. And this is neither the place, nor the time. Besides, I've got other stuff to...attend to. So I left her to simmer for a while and went looking for my faithful servants. She'll come for me. Eventually. She always does, doesn't she? And I'll make sure she always will.

Turns out I don't have to look too long for the Necro woman of my choice. Gwendolen steps to meet me in a convulsive hurry. Something got to her good. But it's her awareness of my whereabouts that is really something to admire. I kinda like that about her.

"My Lord Marshal…"

"Would it kill you to call me Riddick?"

She's confused. It seems I have that effect on pale haired women.

"The way I see it, you don't get to see the Underverse without my…consent. Say Riddick and pass."

She doesn't do sarcasm. No fun. Necros make me wish for mercs. Legions of them. Led by a hyperactive happy-go-trigger Johns. Gotta tell ya, they don't make them like they used to.

"But you don't understand, Lo…Riddick… none of us may see it! We are in grave danger." She concludes apocalyptically. These people live in a continuous dooms day. Frankly, it gives me headaches. I like to beat the odds, not the other way around.

"Really? What made you realize that?"

"There is a legend among the Necromongers that the Threshold is fiercely guarded by the Black Warriors. They perpetuated the Grand Error to serve their petty needs and keep the powers of the Underverse to themselves. Until the First Lord Marshal managed to elude them and free our people and gave birth to the Necromonger Way. They are great masters of stealth and sometimes not even the Lensors can detect their presence. It is my belief that one of them has boarded our ship. I felt it down in the crypt. Its presence was most malign. Did you not sense it? "

Did I not sense it?! Got a handful of it, actually.

"Listen, Gwendolen. There was nothin' in that crypt that you need to worry about…"

She aims to disagree with me, but I pull the obedience card on her.

"It's not awfully nice to disapprove of your Lord Marshal, now is it? Remember, still wanna see those fields of yonder?"

She nods with great humility. Hmm, interesting. This could work.

"Atta girl! Let's talk rituals and maybe you'll get an early admission."

Hey, she's the one with Underverse this, Underverse that. If she wants it that bad…

I just had to mention rituals. Sometimes, I am my own worst enemy. Gwendolen fretted and fussed and got this shinding on the run. The Necros are gathering. And do they keep comin'. Never been _that_ popular. They're gaping, for fuck's sake! And bowing, what's up with that? Even Dame What's-her-name. No spunk, I tell you, no spunk! After a swift moment of mental imbalance, Gwendolen quickly recollects herself and goes on with the ritual while I take the throne. Throne-warmer, huh? The lights are dimmed – Gwen is so thoughtful – so I can scan the audience without my goggles. The Elemental looks a little off, but Vaako-Boy is ten feet deep in the crapper of shame, while his mate is trying really hard to live this down. How the fuck did those two get together? She's obviously fun in the sack, but he must be packing something epic to warrant such wedded bliss. Seriously, how intriguing.

Gwendolen prattles on about the Promise Land, about eradicating the Grande Error, the Necromonger way, but I tune most of it out. From the intel I gathered last night, it's safe to say that Carolyn knows more about this than any of these geeks could ever dream of. Speaking of which, she must be bored silly. I can't actually see her, but her scent is still on me, so I can track her whereabouts with as much accuracy as to ascertain she's in the neighborhood. And plus, Gwen's tense demeanor is a dead give away. Oh yeah, she's here alright. Which means this has got to end:

"I'll cross the Threshold! I'll check out this Underverse thing you got goin' on."

Pause for effect.

Wait.

Just wait.

"Always wanted to visit new places."

And they're collectively happy, I'm collectively pissed and Vaako is over-all stupid.

"I will journey by your side, my Lord Marshal! The path is perilous and if my life serves the cause you represent, I will gladly concede it!"

He's clueless, I swear. Self-preservation is lost on the man. I mutter a badly concealed "Whatever", and I know Carolyn is going to have my ass for this. I can feel the ripples of anger flowing towards me. So I make a hasty exit and brace for impact. The corridor is blissfully empty.

Carolyn's newly discovered dark side is no walk through the park. The kid's antics I could handle. She's confused. Since birth. But this good girl of mine suffers from rage attacks. Pent-up frustration, severe pain and kill-rage tend to make her irrational. And she slips to a place where I can not follow. I'm not much of a break in kinda guy. Breaking out is more like my thing.

"Haven't you heard three's a crowd?"

"Haven't you heard three's a lucky charm?"

She's done it again. Zoned out on me like that. But for her black outfit, she'd be lost on my sight. Because she's too damn pale skinned and fair-haired. You have any idea how hollow her eyes look to me? The only smudge of color I can still pick up on her face with my shined vision is the scar, which seems to retain a certain reddish tinge. I fucking hate that! The only way I can see _her_ properly is if I step closer, and closer is nowhere safe to be in this moment. Not with those wrist blades aching to skin my hide. I can tell. 'Cause good ol' fight or flight kicks in. She struggles to keep it together and pushes that we should go.

No argument there, babe, I sigh, internally relieved.

"Cargo Bay's that way. Will take a Necro Glider."

I take the lead. But no one's following. Oh, shit, not again!

When?

WHEN?!

WHEN WILL SHE FINALLY FOLLOW ME?

What is so fucking difficult?

I am losing it with her. She thinks she's seen dark Riddick? Fuck no! She hasn't even been close to pale grey. All I've ever been around her is lily fucking white! And I am no mood to play cajoling with her pristine ass! I can get downright primitive when it comes to this!

So, I use my best commanding voice and snarl:

"Carolyn. Get. Your. Ass. In. Here."

She snaps out of it and moves to follow me. I wonder how long this is gonna last this time. Ten full seconds before the silent "Why" and the wide-eyed stare that causes me no end of trouble.

Good question, though.

"Because I happen to like your ass."

Hey, she was digging for it! Damn straight, too.

Her shoulders sag and she's Carolyn again. My Carolyn. I like her that way. I'd even like it better without all the end of the world stuff.

But the world around us is ending. And those Hunter skills she keeps flaunting could come in handy.

"Your ship's nearby?"

"Yeah, but they can't come. Someone got to watch the armada while we're gone. If I'm right, all hell will break loose the moment we leave the hangar bay. That relentless bitch is going to make sure of it. And there are other stick-in-the mud Necros who are just itching to gain more power. We're talking full blown riots. Real daggery shit."

"Make sure your guys tape it. I don't wanna miss a thing!"

"Aww, sorry, but your shivs can't come out and play."

She's cute. Forget the ass. She's really cute.

"Maybe next time."

That scared the shit outta her.

"No way I'm doing this twice! Got that, mister?"

Wasn't planning on it either. This shit gives a whole new meaning to a near death experience. And she's had plenty of that already. See, I can be considerate.

Ok, maybe just selfish.

"So, we're doing this?"

"No, Riddick, we're rehearsing…'the fuck!"

I don't plan on getting her all wound up. But it happens.

She boldly heads for a glider of her choice and she's got that processing-look again.

"You know how to fly one of these things?"

"Whatcha asking me for? You're the certified pilot!"

"Docking pilot! I dock! Shit, Riddick, I'm soo not doing the whole _Would you like me to fly you to the Underverse, Lord Marshal? Would you like me to kiss your pompous ass, Lord Marshal?_ And, no. I don't happen to like _your_ ass!"

Dramatic pause. Again. Because it pisses her off. Hey, it's a challenge.

"Co-pilot then?"

Her voice bellows from the insides of the ship:

"Stow it!"

I was going to argue, but Vaako Boy is here.

"Lord Marshal? With whom are you speaking?"

I sloooowly turn towards him. The grin should've tipped him off. Not!

"Get on the ship, Vaako!"

This…

Is…

Going…

To…

Be…

Interesting…


	17. Chapter 17 So many things a man can be

**A/N:**

**HopeK: just keep those cakes coming;)**

**AndBeAVillian: is this kinder to Vaako? judge for yourself:) i am waiting for your review, be it good or bad!**

**Visitor: cookies? awww, you said the magic word! I am a sucker for cookies;)**

**Dear reviewers and silent readers, whoever you may be,...sorry for the long wait. it's been a hectic month and i just recently got it together. though i do hope that this new chapter is not much of a disappointment, i am not particularly proud of it:( but it will get better from now on...i hope;) that being said...Enjoy!**

**PS: this chapter is rated M for "undignified" language! you have been warned! oooh, and i do not own anything you recognize;)**

So many things a man can be. So many things I can be…

Warrior.

Beloved.

Betrothed.

Commander.

_Traitor._

And sometimes, in the deepest recesses of my mind…_Murderer_.

How fitting it should be to serve one such as myself and even more so.

And there it is…the crux of the matter.

Always serve, never truly be one. It is easier this way – with virtually no pressure on my bleak conscience - but not very dignified, I suppose. Not very greatness-worthy.

_She_ thinks it, though. _She _thinks I should strive for more…that_ I_ should be_ more_. And as usual, I cannot but agree with her. Especially with her body and her hands so close. The things that woman does with her hands… A man should never feel such weakness. A woman should never be so powerful. But I am so. And she is that.

Manipulative.

Forever using her assets to her advantage.

Always prepared to put on an elaborate show, because she firmly believes that whoever wants it the most will eventually get it.

And this is the woman I chose to have as my wife. Her _want_ is and always will be as lasting as the Underverse itself. She wants and will have nothing less than a powerful husband. Because her husband – and that would be me - is more hers than she is his. Through me she can obtain powers unheard of. She speaks not of it. But we have not been married for so long without me knowing a thing or two about her and her subversive ways.

Space. That is what I need to put between us. The cold vastness of space should suffice. I am always myself on the battlefield, more so than on this ship, where all breathe the same air as she. She can be quite intoxicating. Perhaps the Breeder – petulant as the winds of my long forgotten world – will help clear the air. So many questions are left unanswered. So many answers buried underneath all the li…legends – that is want I meant to say. Useless to chide myself. I have a wife who is aptly qualified for such an undertaking. And a conscience carved to her liking. Which is disheartening, to say the least.

A great journey is ahead of me… I have strayed from the path, but it will be no longer so. I was trained to be a guardian of our blessed society. First and foremost, I am a Necromonger Commander. I will see the Error eradicated. And the gates of the Underverse will open to the followers of the Necromonger way. Our souls will be free from the entrapment of flesh, we shall sour to the Dark Haven and the sacred promise shall be fulfilled. The End of Everything. The Beginning of All. What is life compared to the Existence of one who has been purified? A long line of struggles and pain and disappointment with no hope of achieving something better. And if there ever was such a thing as hope it would be only a fleeting illusion. I am done with such foolishness. Gone are the days when I was slave to my own flesh. Hmph. Perhaps I have spoken too soon. For I am now a slave to the flesh of another.

"Commander Vaako!"

I came to a halt and watched as Fair Lady Gwendolen approached me. There was something so statuesque about her. I could see why Zhylaw favored this blonde cold beauty. She was so much like the towering icon-statues. Unmovable in her faith.

"My lady…"

She stood before me and graced me with a slight nod of her head. In all the years of our acquaintance we had hardly spoken two words to each other.

"You pledged your allegiance to the Lord Marshal today for all Necropolis to see. You have willingly agreed to embark on a dangerous voyage to the Underverse. By his side."

My wife had warned me of her haughtiness, but I was – dare I say it – startled by her crisp tone of voice.

"That I did, my lady."

"And that you will do! You treat matters of fidelity very lightly, my lord Vaako."

I stiffened at the insinuation. Guilt overpowered me. And a misleading sense of wounded pride. But she left me no time for it.

"I, however, do not. And neither is my family. Lord Zhylaw may be gone, but our influence has not been diminished…"

"So you would have a Breeder on the throne?! I do believe, my lady, that it is _your_ fidelity the poses a problem. Riddick is not an appointed successor."

"You. Keep. What. You. Kill." She said in no uncertain terms. "It is the Necromonger way. Do not play this holier-than-thou-art game with me. I do not pretend to know from what hole you crawled out of, Vaako, and I do not much care. While I do prize ambition, I suffer not stupidity. What did that woman of yours promise in exchange for your act of disloyalty? That she would praise you as Lord Marshal? That she would get down on her knees and suckle on your manhood for all you are worth?"

I raised my hand to strike her down, but somehow managed to rein in my anger before something unforgivable came to pass.

"I am well within my rights to dismember you right now, woman!"

She snorted.

"And what purpose would that possibly serve? You have come to terms with what you are, Vaako. A good soldier. There is no shame in that, as there is no greatness in you."

Such words have passed from the lips of a not particularly bright woman…such truths…

"Learn this, Commander. I used to despise you for your treachery. Yes, you heard me right. You are treacherous. A good Commander. But not a good Necromonger. You do not have faith. You follow orders. Your wife's most of the time."

"What about you, Fair Gwendolen? Do you have faith?"

"I believe in a new beginning. A clean slate. And if the one you call a Breeder can make it happen then that is worth having faith in."

I trusted her words to be true. In her simplicity, Lady Gwendolen was wiser than you would be inclined to give her credit for.

"We will be different men upon our return…"

"You will have returned to a different place…"

And with that she was gone, leaving me in the process of harboring the feeling that there was more to this woman than the density with which she was known to view Necromonger politics.

But her words meant nothing to me now. I was needed in the hangar bay. By the Lord Marshal of the Necromonger faith. Deeply disturbing, I must admit.

I had had half a mind of approaching Riddick stealthily, to test he-of-the-Furyan-soul. But, I laughed internally, what purpose would that possibly serve? He is aware of my presence, though I do not understand his audible musings. I voice my query:

"Lord Marshal? With whom are you speaking?"

He turns to me, a poorly concealed grin on his lips.

"Get on the ship, Vaako!"

And a fine ship it is. One of our stoutest crafts. However, taking into consideration his professed proficiency in all things strategic, his choice should not be as impressive as…

…the blue eyes staring at me over sharp blades that graze my throat in an unfriendly fashion.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Blades cut throat. Vaako dies._ S'yuit-de_ !"

At the utterance of the ancient curse all Necromongers are taught to avenge, I reached for my gun, only to learn that the Breeder was way ahead of me.

I growled in frustration and anger and blood trickled down my armor:

"Abomination!"

"Riddick, I think he's talking to you."

"Hey! That hurt!"

The accursed Breeder is thoroughly amused.

"Be damned, Breeder!"

The female – for I have determined she is indeed a woman – promptly shoves the tip of the blades deeper and I have a vision of them getting acquainted with the inside of my skull.

"The only thing he's breeding is a massive headache. But you already now that, don't you…_Eta_? "

Her voice is dispassionate and detached. She would have probably shown more emotion by squishing an insect, so low and insignificant a rank we hold for the Black Warriors, the Slaver Lords of legend. Creatures of myth. But in our myths, they did not take _this _shape.

"Ok, kids, let's take this inside!"

At his command, the female yanks me into the dark interior of the ship, followed suit by Riddick's heavy and somewhat displeased frame. I make an attempt at overpowering her, but she thwarts my efforts with a brutal and swift sideways blow.

"You sure like it rough…_Captain._" The way Riddick drawls his words around the female reminds me why we call them Breeders. But the abomination pays no attention to his wolfish remarks. Her focus is on me. Wiping the blood of my face, I taunt my oppressor in hope of getting a reaction…or a semblance of it:

"If you think there will be pleasure in drawing my blood…"

"Pleasure?! There is a word I have not heard in a long time. But whatever works for you, I guess…"

And with a flick of the wrist, the blades are gone leaving a deep gash on my cheek in their wake. She is gone from me now, standing with her back to Riddick, who is watching me intently. He seems larger than life in the rather small interior, even seated in the pilot chair, but the woman – as in _human_ female – is not affected. Her cold scrutiny is more torturous than her cold fury. Riddick's eyes glint _tamely_ in the shadows, but as I set my sight on his companion – they were obviously in this together – I swear I could hear a muffled growl. Every man knows the meaning of such a display. He could not have been clearer if he tattooed _MINE_ on her forehead next to the ominous looking scar.

Surely there was nothing in my demeanor that would lead him to believe…

I mean, I was bleeding because of her!

As far as the pain those blades inflicted was concerned, I should be the one feeling wounded in my male pride. It had nothing to do with the fact that those blades were attached to hands with skin as fair as snow, fairer than that of Gwendolen. And that when the final blow was dealt I could see on the clenching fist myriads of scars that shone furiously in intricate patterns, catching the light in the hangar bay behind me. Because she had stood that close and had moved in the blink of my pain conquered eye far from me and deeper into the shadows of the cockpit.

A man can be amazed…perhaps even fascinated by a creature such as the one currently watching me…almost androgynous looking…utilitarian at least…devoid of passion…the absolute opposite of the woman I had wedded.

But, by no means was I attracted to such a being… Slaver Lord or not, she was still a breeder. A double threat as it were. Triple if I count Riddick's heightened sense of property.

Her face was expressionless even as she shifted her gaze to that of Riddick.

"Lucky charm, huh?"

"More like a gut feeling."

"Oh, I guess that's reassuring…"

They both tensed at the same time. I should have been alarmed but I was feeling comforted by a fresh breeze of wind. It was most refreshing…

"Furyans have highly developed instincts. Why, they could rival _most_ seers!"

Elemental. A witch and a spy. But also the one that triggered the first sign of emotion in the woman. It was cataclysmic, for lack of a better word.

"Carolyn. No!"

Lightning quick, Riddick grabbed her by the arms and pulled her against his solid frame. He was about to seriously get injured by the hyper-raged woman and her swift blades, but his grip on her persisted… he could have fractured her bones and she would not have noticed, so dead-set she was on the shimmering Elemental. Instead of hurting her, though, Riddick chose to handle her like a wild beast, whispering in her ear and easing her towards reason.

"Easy there, Carolyn, easy…"

His vicious hold relented to a rhythmic friction of her arms, even as he spoke to the witch.

"You are so not worth the trouble, sister…"

"That may be so. However, she must know I am here only to help."

"Oh, go strangle a baby!" the harpy hissed between barred teeth, only to have Riddick tighten his grip yet again. I had the distinct impression her heart was not in the escape act anymore.

Mesmerizing as this was, my thoughts were bent on escaping through the open hatch and tell my brethren of the Breeder's treachery and lead them to his demise.

Stretch a little…

Crawl a little…

Grope for my forgotten weapon…

"Hey, where ya' goin'!"

…only to have the woman fire a blast at my leg with Riddick's sidearm. Thoughts of retaliation were numbed by pain and the persistent query that was nagging my mind between loud wailings – grunts, I was grunting! - that escaped my mouth: when did he acquire a sidearm?

I laughed manically at the obvious answer. My own…shot with my own gun, attached to Riddick's hip and handled by _something_ that should not exist! Surely, this was hell!

"For fuck's sake, let's just get outta here, before he alerts the whole fucking ship! Let the fuck go! NOW! "

I wasn't paying much attention, what with my leg disintegrating on me, but I could hear the ramp closing behind me with a thump. With the Elemental still on board. The silvery witch gave me a sorrowful look. She commiserated with me on my situation.

"Pass out now, Commander. It will spare you a lot of pain."

"I do not need your pity!" I spat the words.

"And I do not need more witnesses…"

Witches and spies and…

"You gamble with people's lives…"

"…to protect the Balance!"

"To protect your lies!"

"Tell me, Captain, is there time for this conversation?"

"Why don't you _predict_?"

There was a jolt that put a stopper to the heated argument. It was Riddick piloting the ship out of the hangar. The woman had calmed down considerably.

"You!" she said to the Elemental "You owe me a scream! And you!" Riddick kept his back to her, concentrating on exiting the mother ship.

"What…you gonna make me scream too?"

She muttered what may have been a "you wish" and began fiddling with something that looked like a com device. Her jaw was set and it seemed to me like a decision was being formed in her mind. The Elemental flickered and shimmered, but otherwise stayed quiet. Finally the woman-Captain said:

"Kumary, this is your Captain speaking. Stand by for your orders…"

The language in which she spoke was foreign to me. She, in the entirety of her being, was foreign to me. This was and was not one of the Black Warriors, the enslavers from which the very first of our faith had fled generations ago. This was and was not a Breeder. She was, however, a killer. That much I could determine. Apparently, the universe was set on outnumbering me on this particular matter. I could only pray that we reached the Underverse as speedily as inhumanly possible. Such unworthy a gathering would surely perish in our Hollowed Grounds.

I had little faith in my rebirth, but on the topic of they're death…

…I had no doubt.

_Loyalty __**until **__Underverse comes!_


	18. Chapter 18 Voyage

**A/N:**

**AndBeAVillian: yay, you liked it! and i was so worried i didn't quite get into vaako's head:)**

**HopeK: DEAL!;)**

**FitMama: what can i say...i try to keep things interesting. and i always thought Riddick and Fry would have a nice dynamic if she loosened up a lil' bit:)**

**Maria: thanks for the suggestion;) hope you won't be disappointed with this chapter!**

**Ellie: always nice to hear what people think when reading my story... and see, i even updated soon:D**

**Thanks guys for reviewing and being cute about it:) your feedback means a lot to me and it keeps the muse on track! smooches for everyone! Enjoy!**

The man beside me is bleeding beneath the surface from the blast wound. But he is nonetheless suffering quietly. Pity we do not possess the power to heal. So many great things Elementals can do, except comforting a wounded man. Humans are far more practical in that department. I have little doubt that somewhere on this rather accommodating ship there is a…what is the name for it again… a First Aid Kit. Yes, I believe it is located somewhere in the little sections hidden in the walls.

"Do you not wish for the pain to go away?" I softly whisper to the misguided Commander.

"What pain?" is his barely audible response. However, he deems me worthy of an explanation. "Necromongers are taught to lessen a pain through another. It will pass. My wound is of little consequence."

He would have been convincing, where it not for the heated look in his eyes. He is building a temperature. Away from the Necromonger mother ship, his serum induced faith is failing him. Farther from it, perhaps _my faith _is failing me. This feeling of not belonging had started to cloud my logic ever since we left. The deeper we go into the vast, cold darkness of the verse, the more it seems the elements are losing coherence. It is how I feared. Whatever this Underverse may be – and I really never asserted I knew what it was – it is a place where Balance was lost. Or, better yet, it was never found. The odds of an Elemental surviving in such a place are – truthfully - quite low. I am literally going to hell. The Captain would - and chances are she will - enjoy that very much.

Speaking of my elusive _unknown variable_, she is currently strapped in the pilot's seat, next to a very quiet Riddick. He is quiet to the very core of his being. She, however, is fighting an inner battle that threatens to tear her apart into two incompatible beings. Such a strange creature this woman is. This _Carolyn_ that Riddick has inadvertently attached himself to. The bond is different than that between him and the treacherous child. Almost organic, like she is a substitute for that part of him that gave the man a semblance of a conscience. To my mind, every occurrence ultimately has a greater goal. For all the forces of the Universe cannot stop destiny from unfolding. Even the tragic and gruesome deaths of the passengers onboard the Hunter Gratzner had fulfilled their purpose. Forks in the road that have lead to our present voyage. To the blonde woman and the quiet Furyan heading towards the unknown.

And, lo and behold, how he is quiet no more.

"What?"

"You are the one staring at me! Stop it!"

"Nothing else better to look at. Seen them plenty already. Haven't seen you that much, though. I'm only looking."

There was an inelegant snort, accompanied by what I could only deduce was a fairly impressive smile.

"Trust me, Riddick, one can be _lonely _even in a crowd, not just on a freakin' ice planet. And before you start an argument, yes, I knew all along. And _before_ you even _start_ thinking about starting _that_ argument, what would you have me do? Wave a hand? I, may I remind you, _did_ keep your secret. And not just from the Merc Guild!"

A loud punch of a stranded and useless command punctuated the last affirmation.

Riddick was silent yet again. Looking at her yet again.

"WHAT? Jesus, do I even wanna know?"

Riddick just tilted his head, unsure to whom she was actually addressing.

"If I tell you…"

"Don't worry, I won't feel offended…"

I knew she was not lying. Offended she would not be, but she would be hurt beyond repair. I was unsure of how perceptive Riddick was in this matter. When it came to this particular woman and this particular man nothing was predictable.

"Ok, but you asked for it…"

"Hmpf!"

"If you're going to be hard about it, I won't tell you shit!"

"No, no, go on. This has the promise of an interesting conversation."

"We always have interesting conversations!"

"Get to the fucking point, Riddick!"

She grinned, but her eyes laughed. Her curiosity was piqued.

"Well, if you must know, I am looking at you because I am a man…"

She laughed out loud this time, drawing Vaako attention as well.

"No doubt about that!"

"What d'ya know? There's a dirty streak to my do-right Captain! Who would have guessed?"

"I'm sensing you're not quite finished…"

"Not really. But it's always good to clear the air. Or, this time, anyways. So…"

At this point, Riddick turned his shined eyes to her intently and intoned:

"What I'm saying, _Carolyn,_ is that you're a severely fuckable woman strapped in a chair. I'm bound to look."

And a great silence descended upon us. It seemed an impunity to disturb it. I stilled myself internally and Vaako caught his ragged breath. The tension was palpable and there was no mathematical certainty or even probability in regard to the outcome to the Furyan's little experiment.

Carolyn gasped. I take it whatever she was expecting him to say it wasn't quite this. Her mouth was open for 10 whole seconds before she yanked him closer by the collar of his armor.

"Are You Crazy, Saying That To Me? There Is Absolutely Nothing Fuckable Underneath All This! How I Wish To God There Was! What The Fuck Is Wrong With You?"

And there it was. In Riddick's non-reflective eyes, drawn in shades of purple and red. But she could not see it, for all her worth. I could sense her increased self-awareness. Her damaged image of herself. Why, it became clear to me that she no longer perceived herself as a being with needs, other than the one to survive and _to protect_. _To survive so she could protect. _

The Furyan moved neither to contradict her, nor to relieve himself of her grip.

"Are you done?" he chose to say instead, in the tone some are known to use when scolding a five year old.

She let go. Just as simple and as uncomplicated as that.

"Clear 'nough air for you?" she questioned half-heartedly, averting her gaze from his unrelenting one and fiddling with the controls.

"I'll manage."

With that they both lapsed back into silence. I could not prevent myself from wondering what conclusion had Riddick drawn from such a disclosure. His choice of words had been…selectful…enticing to the reaction Carolyn displayed. He quietly un-strapped himself and slid from the seat, placing a massive hand on the head-board of Carolyn's seat to steady himself. An apparently useless maneuver as there was nothing that would have unbalanced him. But to the Alpha male of the Furyan race and to the Elemental that knew so much about them it was deeply symbolic. He was simply marking his territory. Even if the only challenging male presented no threat in his present condition.

Riddick took in the sight of my reclining position and Vaako suffering stance. Neither of us where having success at pretending we did not hear their conversation. For my part, I did not even attempt it.

"Do you feel compelled to enrage her, Furyan?"

"When she's particularly dense, yes."

"Did you stop to ponder the cause for such lack of…insight?"

"Sister, do you ever speak normally? You make English sound like a foreign language."

"What she's trying to ask is if you know why your woman is acting like that!" Vaako all but hollered in frustration. The side effects of pain, I presume.

"She's Carolyn! She never needs a reason for acting dense." Riddick answered the question in which Vaako had unwittingly acknowledged the Furyan's claim on the blonde Captain with a great amount of satisfaction, which he nevertheless tried to hide behind a casual shrug.

"Fuck, Riddick, it's not like I'm standing** right here!** Jesus!" Carolyn furiously un-strapped herself with a loud growl and came to join after none to gently shoving the large man aside. He granted her this small victory with a smirk of his very own.

"Look, I'm excited we're all bonding and shit, but you're missing the greater picture here. None of us truly know what we're getting ourselves into."

"We are about to pass the Threshold." Vaako promptly answered. "And witness the wonders of the Underverse. The time is near. That is what we are getting ourselves into."

He was dying. I could not help but watch in fascination as his very essence slipped into the unknown. The equation which formed his life was not disintegrating, but it was transforming, adding new variables that my logic could not grasp. The woman understood this also, for she walked to him and leaned to take hold of his face:

"Listen carefully, Eta! There is no liberation in the death you wait for. The blast only served to speed the process."

Vaako's eyes fluttered open as she ran her thumb over the bleeding gash on his cheek.

"Poison!" he hissed. Carolyn stood up.

"A very long time ago, the Yautja homeworld was ravaged by unending civil wars. Their entire civilization was on the brink of destruction due to they're warring nature. It was eventually discovered that if somehow they managed to suppress the effects of the kill gland, that would put an end to all the useless fighting. So they developed a serum that inhibited the kill gland. Over the generations, they perfected this serum, because in the beginning it had unwanted side effects: it made them too docile, so slavery prospered. Finally, they reduced the side effects to the limitation of the secretions. But it was the first version on the kill gland serum these scavengers stole and adapted to the human neuronal network. And they've kept pumping it in the converts for almost six generations. Some races are more resilient than others, so some converts are not as docile and easily maneuvered as others. Do you know, Elemental, why the Purifier was the only Furyan that made it in the Necro ranks? Because all the others died, whether they did so during the marking process, or driven mad by the incompatibility of the serum with their mind frame. They were useless, mindless soldiers who got themselves killed, either in combat or terminated by order of the Lord Marshal.''

She eyed me angrily.

"Not liking the story, Aereon? Are these not the answers you have sought for?"

I had long calculated that there had to be a number of Furyans that had joined the ranks, which saddened me considerably. I knew Furyans to be defiant. And now to hear that they had been so even in madness, even in death...it brought a sense of pride and accomplishment. However, she would not see it like that. Which was most peculiar, as it was clear to me she once did. I will hold to that piece of information to use it later, when Riddick's influence on her will have subsided.

"Whatever the effects the serum had on the converts, it has something to do with the Underverse. Truthfully, I don't fully understand how it works. But I do know that the only way to pass the Threshold is if we become like him." She said, pointing at Vaako.

"In terrible need of a hair-stylist?"

"Man, you're feeling all kinds of funny today, aren't you?"

I took the resuming of their banter as a good sign. It detracted her from the graveness of the situation. It bought me more time. During her little monologue, I had summoned all my remaining strength and try to bring some order in the mysterious variable which was Carolyn. All the knowledge I possessed of her, I attempted to gather it in a working equation. She was the link between the Holy Man, the Child and the Furyan. However, something had passed between her and Riddick, a transfer of sorts that was lost on the other two. And he never deemed it necessary to tell them, because he had a hard time comprehending the massive change himself. Some part of them, the seemingly good woman and the seemingly hardened convict, had died on that planet. Her belief in redemption had been her downfall. Death had not come for her. Her sacrifice had been useless. And so, the none-too-dormant darkness in her had found a purpose to serve among an alien species in an unknown part of the 'Verse. And now, darkness was living deep within her soul, drawing its energy from guilt and overwhelming disappointment.

What kind of evil was she really? Why hadn't she showed up in my calculations? Because, surely, Riddick was the key element. His birth had been foretold, the path he had chosen had hardened and forged him for this moment. And yet, he willingly and systematically puts his life in the hands of this little woman with a damaged body and a tainted heart. Even now, when she asks of him to…die…

"You're serious?"

"The version of the serum the Yautja now use will not kill a human, but it will induce a coma. Our chances of actually surviving this are…relatively…good. More for you, than for me, what with the animal thing you got goin' on. And it's not like we really have a choice here. The Underverse does not sustain life as we know it. We'll die anyway."

"She is right. This place is new in many ways. It is constantly under mutation. What is of the body and what is of the mind collide here. To reach the Underverse and live to speak of it first we must reach the very Threshold of death. If this is the way to do it…"

"Riddick…" Carolyn gave him the best impression of a pleading look. "I'm not fucking around, I know what I'm doing! Come on, don't you want to try to die?"

"No."

"Just as good. You'll probably fail miserably anyway."

Riddick, always thinking of himself in terms of survival.

And Carolyn…who had courted death so many times, she almost longed for it.

The woman activated a mechanism on her armband and two hypo sprays sprung out, one slightly larger than the other.

"Here, you can have the big one!"

Riddick's eyebrows shot up, but Carolyn was quick to administer herself the smaller dosage. Then she held out the other hypo and glared at the Furyan.

"I'm not asking."

With a final grunt, Riddick unfolded his arms and came closer to the woman with the threatening hypo.

"Fine!...Just, not in the eye."

She made a face at him and forcefully impaled the hypo on the side of his throat. Perhaps a little too forcefully and with great enthusiasm. Nevertheless, he found within him the power to smirk.

"Payback…"

"…is a severely fuckable bitch, ain't it?" Carolyn triumphantly concluded.

"What about her?"

"How thoughtful of you to consider me."

"Something tells me she won't need it."

Indeed, my journey towards death had already begun. We had traveled far beyond the borders of the charted territories and closer to the stellar nurseries. We were well within the birthplace of new worlds. Nothing was as it should be. Elements in disarray, balance unformed.

"We will see each other…on the other side." I smiled faintly.

A blinding mist settled upon us. Vaako's breathing had long ago ceased to be regular. Carolyn slumped on the floor of the ship with Riddick nestling his large frame in the vicinity. The air was growing cold and consequently so was I.

"So, this is the moment when we're going to see the light at the end of the tunnel?"

Humans and their unquenchable need for myths and metaphors.

"Yeah, maybe you should put your goggles back on. You know…just in case."

Not to reach for her hand was beyond Riddick's control. I felt like an intruder. Albeit a shameless one.

"Riddick… what you said before…back in the cockpit…you really mean that?"

Sleepy, unguarded, dense, little Carolyn. How could Riddick not want her?

"Carolyn…you are beautiful…"

All the light had gone from the Universe.

The Dark.

_His favorite_.


	19. Chapter 19 Beautiful

**A/N:**

**HopeK: i did say i will come back with at least 2 chapters, didn't i? well, this is pretty long and the next one is on its way so you can stop harassing your poor nails:D**

**MythStar Black Dragon: i'm glad you like it! i only hope to live up to the expectations:)**

**AndBeAVillian: you see, i was listening to Aereon's intro to COR the other day and i had this idea: what if Riddick wasn't exactly the evil she had calculated would fight the necro-evil? but truth is i didn't have the guts to take the idea further so that's why the moral extra seemed a tad out of place. thanks for pointing that out, feedback is very important to me:)**

**my(?)master: over? nooo, it's definitely not! but...is that a good thing?...hmmm...**

**Ok, guys so here it is...a rather long chapter rated M towards the end. as a piece of warning, the characters are acting a lil' Out Of Character, but as many times as i read it, i just couldn't make it sound better... i did put a lot of effort into it, so please feel free to tell me your likes and dislikes. ENJOY!**

…Beautiful…

Even in a world seen in a restricted range of colors, I've always been able to acknowledge beauty…though not always in women. Truth be told, most of the times, they struck me as particularly artificial. What are women compared to a swarming flock of sharp-toothed, blood-lusty, killer alien winged raptors?...or, whatever they're called…

Then again, I have been out of the loop for quite some time, and my sampling of the fairer sex was never that good to begin with. And when I do return to civilization and all the fucking brightness, I come across one showering wife who smelled nice, like most _normal _people do, her miniature version who thought I had stepped down from one of her bedtime stories, one Elemental that I could feel rather than actually see, another of the lawfully wedded and partially dead kind who oozed beauty through every well-defined pore, one tight-ass killing machine playing merc and popping fresh makers with Toombs and the kid – she-woman extraordinaire of the killer nation. And that wannabe minx left me for dead to roast on a deserted runaway. Key words, people: RUN AWAY. Shit like this always happens to me.

But, there was also…and that's my real problem…something…_someone_ else. Who asked me in a voice I knew all too well, though I have no idea why, something painfully obvious – or so my sense of smell, hear, touch and _soon_ taste told me. My vision was failing me and the violet hues in which her image appeared to me faded away. I had felt like this once before…the warmth and support of a body I could_ rely_ on snatched away from me, with no words and cryptic smiles. I was beginning to forget…but the primitive side, the animal side, the one that would not be subdued so easily, kept telling me that it was very wrong. And I struggled to remember what, struggled to regain my grip on the warm hand which was no more.

I was drifting in and out of consciousness, but every thing was a mess. I was hurting…with fever, with cold, with loss…

Was it raining?

Hard pellets of heavy water striking me down…and daggers…ooh, those daggers, flying at me from all over the place…

I frantically tried to avoid them out of instinct rather than intent…but it was just snow…icy snow…and what was I doing out naked on such a weather?

Even I was not immune to this heat…shaking is a bad sign, I keep telling myself…

And I don't like pointy, sharp objects that don't belong to me…and why did you boil the water…oh, it's blood…guess that figures…but still!? I could kill for a particular good Shiraz right about now…

...need some help? Hold up, babe, don't go, I'm starting to forget your smell again…you had a name, Johns called you…something… but who are you really? Don't worry, it'll come to me. You're with me…I just have to remember…

Ahhh, blissful darkness…my favorite…

Wish I could remember darkness. Not the blindfold they kept covering my eyes with, but the real thing. It must have looked somewhat like what I'm experiencing now. Darkness resonates. It amplifies the senses. That would explain the incessant commotion: smell of booze and sound of alcohol flavoury coupling. Men and women laughing hysterically and the man in front of me cheering for my health. That's new.

He's babbling incoherently right about now, but the face doesn't match the words:

"You smug motherfuck! Who'd've thought the grunt had it in him! Here's to the fastest strike in the system! Here's to Sir Shiv-a-lot!"

Someone just laughed his dinner out and a cacophony of voices screaming "Grosse!" accompanied his retching. This don't seem right, although the memory is accurate: lost my rifle, used a shiv instead, got the job done, impressed a few people who were looking for a reason to throw a celebration at a local joint. Company people, Strike Force graduates like me. Mine sweepers, just like me. Braggarts. Lost a lot of credits at dice. Lost a lot of lives, too. I had no qualms about cheating them out of both their money and their lives. But this was a special occasion. Space port nearby was opened up for transportation. And along came the pirates, nastier than any spitfire. Ghosted the motherfuckers quickly enough. Those shipments they were planning to hijack were our down payment. I did not spent months on end on this fucking rock, getting a fair share of acid burns in the dark, so they could just run off with my work's worth. They _so_ did not know who they were fucking with! And, now, from another face in the crowd, noticeable in a uniform, but not worth the headache, I was suddenly someone. Motherfucking Riddick, Sir Shiv-a-lot, worthy of praise!

They threw me a party, that much was right. But I don't remember having _him_ there… nor having him giving me crappy-ass nicknames, and I planned on telling him that much:

"Billy Boy, what the fuck are you doing here?"

That was a stunner.

"Wha'do ya mean?"

I swear he fucking pouted. But on further consideration:

"Same thing I was doing yesterday."

"Which is?"

"Drinking my way to the next fuck…"

"Last I remember, you didn't get one."

"Last I remember, neither did you!"

Again with the pouting thing.

"Johns. Get. Out. Of. My. Dream. Sequence!" Shit, I didn't miss him that much.

"Riddick, what did I tell ya about big words? Headache! Christ!"

And I'm pretty sure we never had this conversation. Or I would have jacked him to death about it.  
"I think I'll go get us another beer. You're not wasted 'nough to be a true asshole. Then I'll kick your ass."

He duck-walked his red-arse face to the bar, leaving me at the table.

Totally. Alone.

I almost gave in to the urge of checking for restraints. Nope, no chains, no bit, no blindfold. Just a standard issued brown uniform, with the company's logo imprinted on it and a collar that chaffed a bit, so I always kept it unfastened.

Johns wobbled his way back to our – _our _table, for fuck's sake, with two beers and a bowl of chips precariously balanced on a tray. Balance…wasn't someone nagging me about that some time ago? But, when? And, who?

"Here."

I took a mouthful out of the cold beer and I could feel the pleasure of it up to my eyeballs. It was…intense.

"So, nice change. From the blue uniform and all. Traded your fake badge for…" at which point I encouraged him to fill in the blanks.

He was dumbfounded. Or just plain dumb.

"Riddick, my man, are you high on something?"

He's asking me that?!

This is just…so…

…wrong.

"Johns, don't you think something's wrong?" If he thinks at all.

"Do I ever!"

Finally!

"I mean we graduated top of our class from Strike Force Academy and now we're stuck doing grunts' work in a fucking mine, crawling with spitfires, shooting pirates for a bit of diversity…or gutting them. Whichever. It fucking sucks!"

"_We _graduated?!"

"Yeah, we. As in you and me. Us."

And he waved the beer between our seated figures.

"Look, it's obvious you're coming down with something. Night sickness, brain fever, the fucking flu! I say you finish up that beer, pick up a nice easy broad – there's a whole bunch loitering around – and fuck whatever has gotten into you out of your system."

Now, come to think of it, I was building quite a headache. A brutal one.

"Just one?"

That seemed to turn Johns up a notch.

"Now, that's the Riddick I know!"

Grinning stupidly, he vigorously patted my back.

"Go on, you party-animal, have some fun!"

And then the blue eyed motherfucker belched.

This was ridiculous. But the pounding in my head reverberated in my balls. I got up and moved away from the table. What was that Johns said about a whole bunch of women loitering around?

"Pilots, space whores, local tramps, take your pick!"

"Said that out loud, huh?"

The bartender rolled a dirty rag in a shot-glass and pointed to a lonely figure sitting at the corner table.

"She seemed clean enough. Ordered whisky – a whole bottle – and one glass."

"Doesn't seem like she wants to make friends."

"How many friends have you ever fucked?"

He gave me a pointed stare while fiddling with the glass.

"She ain't your bitch, is she?"

I wasn't about to fall in a trap set by some local pimp who happened to own a bar and give advice to total strangers.

"I'm laughing internally", he said nonplussed.

Ok, so I guess that's a no.

I walked up to her table and looked her up and down. But it was dark and her head was bowed. Left hand circling an empty glass, right hand firmly anchored on the neck of the half-empty bottle. She didn't move, nor acknowledge my presence. She wasn't that far gone though. This called for a direct approach. And I did lust for a bit of whisky. Briefly wondered if she'd let me taste it off her lips. So I snatched the bottle and filled the glass, took that too, and let it burn down my throat. She cracked a smile and lifted her head, flooring me with the most intense blue stare I had ever seen.

"What color are my eyes?"

"Blue." That was fast, even for me. She fired questions at me again.

"What color is my hair?"

"Blonde…Golden." Wasn't sure if blonde's a color.

"What color is my uniform?"

"Green?...It's kinda dark in here."

"It's green. I look shit in green. But that's ok, 'cause you can't see that."

That sounded about right. And she looked right too, just a little out of place.

"I know you."

"Then you know more than I do. Who am I?"

"You're…beautiful…"

Smooth, Riddick, real smooth.Fuck!

But she was lost, her eyes glazed, her lips quivering, her breath pitched.

"You know who I am, too. I can feel you remembering me."

Her small hand traveled the length between us and reached for my face, ghosted her fingertips over my jaw, my cheekbones and stopping for my eyes. She traced my eyebrows and brushed my eyelashes and ran her knuckles down my face. And then the flickering illusion of a smile tugged at her lips.

"What color are _your_ eyes?"

My mind had dissolved under her touch. It refused to process her words. Something had gone so terribly wrong that the eyes in question closed shut of their own accord.

Her hand concluded its idle search by resting on top of mine.

"Show me your eyes, Riddick!"

I must've muted a stubborn no, because her grip on my hand intensified. I used my free hand to sandwich hers between mine.

There was a soft laughter coming from her.

"Show. Me. Your. Big…"

I let out a chuckle and a muffled groan. This woman was infuriating…

"…Soulful…"

"Carolyn…." I threatened, cracking one eye open.

"…Brown. Eyes!"

Fits of laughter coursed through her body, making it shake violently.

"That's it! No more whisky for you!"

And I clutched the whisky bottle close to me to exemplify her punishment.

She drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, wrinkled her nose, opened them…

"Don't you dare…"

She swallowed back the little bout of laughter and continued to stare at me.

"The Underverse is fun."

"The what?"

"Don't know. I just felt like saying it." She shrugged and said again:

"Like I feel that you having brown eyes is somehow wrong. Like I feel that the loud red-head you were talking to is not supposed to be here. Not in one piece, anyway. Like I feel that my hair is not supposed to be this long. Like I feel that I don't belong."

We were silent for a while.

"You called me something."

"Carolyn."

"That's my name."

"Guess so."

"This is ridiculous."

"I was just thinking that." I paused, and then it hit me. "Where have you been?"

"I woke up here in time to hear Johns' piece of… _advice._"

"Hm."

"What?'

"You showed up when I thought of you."

She cocked her eyebrows and tapped her fingers against the table.

"Didn't we have this conversation already?"

"I have the distinct feeling you disagreed with me."

"Right. Wait…I know why you have brown eyes!"

Now, this was weird.

"Is there a particular reason?"

"Because I _knew_ that. I read it somewhere. In one of your files, most likely."

"Oh, so it would have nothing to do with the fact that I'm still working for the company and haven't had a shine job done yet?"

"But, then, you should be…err…younger. You don't look younger."

Was this the look of embarrassment gracing her features?

"I was never young."

She frowned, a deep, upset frown.

"But that doesn't make any sense. I mean…"

"Carolyn…"

"…and you are fucking with me."

She heaved a deep resigned sigh.

"Yep."

"I knew that…"

I took in her features, the hair that was now long enough for me to wrap my fist in it if I so pleased, the eyes that were clear ice blue, the fair unmarred skin, the dark honey of her eyebrows, the mole next to her right eye and the other caffeine spots on her neckline, committing these details to memory, knowing that I would never see them again as I saw them now. She chanced a glance my way and wrinkled her nose again, obviously trying to hide the pink shade coloring her cheeks. She was uncomfortable under my scrutiny. And visibly aroused. I knew this like I've always known: she hid her hands underneath the table and wiped her sweaty palms against her thighs. A dead giveaway. The sound of the illicit friction set sparks flying between us. The musky scent she emanated made me light headed. But it took only a look at her to see her defenses were ramrod straight. Problem was, so was I.

"Let's get outta here."

The deep rumble in my voice was meant to hide the growl I was _this_ close to letting out.

I set my goal on finding the exit and scram out of the damn place. With her following close behind. And Johns wooting as we left:

"Riddick, you're the MAN!"

Hyper Billy Badass…what was I thinking wishing for that?!

The night outside was pitch black. I stopped dead in my tracks and Carolyn hovered behind my back.

"There's nothing out here." I heard her say.

That was an understatement. No people, no street lights, no streets, for that matter, no buildings. Just a never-ending stretch of dark emptiness. And the brutal headache that shook my entire body. A sharp, stinging pain hit my eyes and I collapsed on the ground with that feral growl finally escaping my lips. Shit, I was so hoping never to feel this brain-fucking pain again. Like someone poked a hot rod through my eyes to my brain. Surgically. I clenched my fists and I swear I could hear bones cracking. But there was a cool hand wiping sweat off my forehead. And no rubber gloves that smelled like cattle shit. Just a scent I knew only too well.

"Riddick, this is not really happening, it already did. Wake up!"

Oh, it was happening alright. But she was not there to witness it. Though, come to think of it, she always comes with blood and pain.

"Riddick, come on, I've got you. We're gonna get outta here. Come on, Riddick, get up! GET.UP!"

So strong. She was so strong. Lifting me up, carrying my weight on her slender shoulders while I was continuously falling.

"We can do this, c'mon! Don't give up on me, now. I can't do this by myself. Riddick…please…"

Ok, that made me feel better, but the pain would not go away and it quickly spread from my eyes to my limbs. Next tactic, babe.

"RIDDICK GET YOUR US MOVING! **NOW!**"

That knocked the breath out of her – and probably a lung too – and if the yelling didn't do it, my next move sure did. Basically, I slammed her against – hey, look – a wall. Hard. But only because I had the impression something whooshed past us. Then, I shielded her still body with my own. And simply sat there trying to catch my breath. I could smell blood that was not mine. The pain had been imaginary, I wasn't bleeding at all. Carolyn was very, very quiet. I opened my eyes and the world exploded in shades of violet. Oh well, at least that was the first normal thing that had happened so far. Normal was not, however, how Carolyn looked.

"What's wrong?"

"You cracked my skull, dislocated my shoulder and snapped two of my fingers." She rasped out.

I cushioned her head against my shoulder and searched for the wound. It wasn't deep, but it would bleed a little. Then I felt her torn shoulder and whispered in her ear:

"Ready?"

By the time she said _No_ I had already replaced the limb in its rightful socket. She screamed her agony against my neck. That would probably leave a mark. Not the kind of hickey I was planning on.

"Left or right?"

"Left…" she mumbled and I snapped back the two splinted fingers.

"We're probably gonna have to look at them later."

"And I'll probably have _**to kill**_ you later."

I smiled against her hair, refusing to feel anything similar to guilt:

"Why not now, tough girl?"

On the tip of her toes – I was so much taller than she was – and with her wrinkled nose still buried deep between my neck and shoulder, she breathed in and said:

"'Cause you smell too good right now."

And she circled both her arms, hurting as they were, against my waist and snaked their way up my back, finally nestling between my shoulder blades. I backed her up against the wall gently and hoisted her up my body so she wouldn't have to stretch, careful to cradle her aching skull. Then I did what I always wanted to do, without her fearing me: I buried my lips, my nose and my eyes in her hair, enjoying the feel of _her_ to the very depths of my being. If I could have incorporated her in my body, I would have done it. As it were, I just left her body cater to my needs.

In the dark.

With her legs wrapped around my waist.

Needles to say, my fiery groins were vigorously protesting. And so was my mind, my animal side, that wanted her like I needed oxygen. Wanted her on my tongue, beneath my hands, under me. Wanted to smell the scent she gave off: not in the crook of her neck or on her hair. I wanted to feel and smell the heavier, muskier scent coming from that part of her that was currently resting against a danger zone. And I wanted to mark her irrevocably mine. And quickly, while she was as still as she now was.

"Carolyn…" I called her name in a sing song voice.

"Mmmm..hmm'wha'mm?"

"Still feel homicidal?"

"Later…"

"Good to know. Now, sit still, ok?"

"Whatever…just don't go…"

Ha! Rabid hellhounds would not separate me from her slightly unconscious form. So, I lowered her with care and her head slid to my chest. But she tightened her arms around me:

"I have a feeling I'm going to regret this…"

"Hush, babe, we both need this."

Her weight on me was delicious, but I had to make this quick. Fucking her in the afterlife was not exactly how I'd picture it. And I had been picturing it a lot. It even made me feel slightly disturbed when I found myself screaming out her name or envisioning her face while I was jacking-off on that frozen rock. I wanted her on even terms: both alive, or both dead. But this…what does self induced coma count for?

With my left hand still cushioning her head, I let my right hand look for the source of her inner heat. No time for dry humping, I wanted – _needed_ – the real thing, even if it was only on the tip of my fingers. I made short work of her belt and fly and my hand went deep into her pants, past the cotton underwear – Carolyn was a clean girl alright – and settled my palm between her thighs, cupping her whole and lifting her up in the process. Her head bounced right off my chest:

"Wow…"

Sweet and slick and wet…my mind was reeling with the possibilities. Firmly gripping her into place, I thrust both my tongue and my finger into her, sealing her protests with a hard kiss and her rebelling musculature with a rough caress.

"Coming yet?" I said into her lips, biting on the unruly, quivering bottom one.

"Wha'? Huh? Just a sec…"

She was radiating heat and she would climax swiftly and with the power of a small nuclear bomb. Her smell was intoxicating, but a sudden sense of urgency hurried my movements:

"Babe, anytime now…" and I rubbed the heel of my palm against her mound and sought her entrance with a second finger.

"Don't I…aaah… always…come for you?" Clearly, she was being a smartass about it.

Her eyes went wide as saucers and her head thrust back against my hand as she gasped in what her tightened muscles told me was ecstasy. I felt compelled to kiss her exposed throat, nipping at the sensitive flesh. The animal within was satisfied, though not completely sated. She was now mine, in the purest, most basic way a man could own a woman. Ok, so not exactly the most basic, but we were getting there. There would be no more misunderstandings from now on.

Down below, she was still damp and throbbing and I tried to ease the lingering discomfort as best I could. Turns out my good girl had quite an appetite. My mouth was still wetting its way to her ear, while I slowly retracted my hand and fastened her up:

"Hungry little Carolyn." And patted her bottom.

In response, she un-clasped her hands at my back and trailed down my sides, yanking my groins against her aching core. It felt like I was gonna go right through the fabric of both our slacks:

"Look who's talking!"

I growled deep within my chest, propping my forehead high on the wall above her head.

"Any more bright ideas, Riddick? 'Cause now we need it even **more**!"

Oh, hell, when she puts it that way… but she pushed her little hands against my chest and I realized we both needed some space. Not exactly _needed_ it, but more like required it. And with all the seriousness she could muster, she said:

"Now I feel like we should hurry the damn up!"

"Where to, Captain?"

She disentangled some stray locks that had curled round my neck and cursed:

"Somewhere where my hair is not so **fucking** long!"

"Like on the skiff?"

That sent her right on track.

"We weren't on a skiff…we were on a ship. A Necro ship. We were arguing."

That definitely hit home.

"You killed us."

She swatted my arm and winced at the pain.

"I did not! We're in a coma. Heading towards the Underverse. To get Jack back."

"Well, are we there yet?"

She looked around us and turned on her heels to stare at the wall.

"Quick, think of Jack!"

…

"JACK!"

…

Her shoulders sagged and pain brought tears she desperately tried to sniffle away. I tugged at her hand.

"Come on, Carolyn, let's keep walking."

And we walked the lonely road into nothingness.


	20. Chapter 20 Together

**A/N:**

**Hope K: yummy! thanks! here's one for you!**

**Maria: I was kinda hoping it would be hot;)**

**Ellie: Glad you thought so!**

**Thanks guys for the feedback! Now, don't shy away from the review button! I had a hard time writing this chapter, I even wrote 2 drafts that went really separate ways, none of them where i wanted them to. I'm not happy with the way it turned out, to me it sound real dry and incoherent and ooc-ish but i got tired of figuring out what was the matter with it! let me tell you, the Underverse is not easy to write! hope it's not too disappointing! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: it all goes to whoever wrote PB, COR, to David Gemmel and so on and so forth...**

We walked together in companionable silence for a while, I, questioning my sanity, self-control, overall morality and the meaning of life and he, doing his overwhelming coolness routine. There was a light breeze that kept ruffling my hair now and again and I swear he was imagining that on purpose, just to piss me off! But I suppose he has his obsessions. I was too angry and torn to care. If you let it control you, anger makes you weak. Years of training with the Yauja had taught me that. I had the marks on my body to prove it, where the whips had inflicted enough pain to counter the rage, instead of fuelling it. I almost smiled at the memory of their twisted sense of humor: Nearly-Limbless-Soft-Meat, they called me – suturing my limbs was so much easier than regenerating them.

The anger I felt now at having lost my efficiency and hard-won detachment made me long for that pain. I wanted to hurt myself. To feel the bone-crushing, head-drilling, acid-smoldering pain that would somehow lessen the equally marrow-melting, mind-numbing, scalding-hot pleasure that kept washing over my body in rhythmic waves. To let a man have so much control over you…and of all men, Riddick, who was bound to use the upper hand he had gained due to my weakness to screw around with my nerve endings in more ways than one...how could i let this happen. With our background – stranded on a dead planet with three suns about to pass through a total eclipse that happens once every 22 fucking years, surrounded by man eating monsters, hammered down by rain and blood or crowded out of the 'verse by armies of death-mongering zealots and we still managed to find time to dance around each other – being pinned to an imaginary wall in the middle of fucking nowhere during a near death experience was basically all we needed to get sex high. I'm deranged, he's a turn on, and so he plays along, taking me for the ride. And damn it if I didn't like it…needed it…wanted it…for as many times as he draws breath. Henceforth, the _companionable _silence.

Luckily, the wall was long forgotten, somewhere behind us – I'm probably never going to be able to look at a wall quite the same again - and all we could see in front of us was more darkness. But we came to a halt just as we both felt a sudden jolt shake our bodies.

"What was that?"

He looked around us, trying to get his bearings:

"Something's wrong."

"Really!? Like what?"

But he was right. And I felt it before, though I was too…distracted to pay much attention to it then.

"We need to get back on the ship." I offered, overcome by something akin to anxiety.

He quirked an amused eyebrow and gestured my way:

"You first."

His attitude was really not helping things and I was definitely not having a Riddick moment. Actually, I kept thinking about which part of his body would make a nicer trophy:

"Look, you asshole, I'm stoked that you got your precious let's-paint-the-world-pink vision, but this is your dream sequence, or whatever the fuck this is! I haven't had my fucking hair this long since freakin' kindergarten! And since I'm letting you run this thing here, it's not unreasonable to ask for some fucking sympathy!"

"Bet you were a cute kid back in kiddy grade! That 'nough sympathy for ya?"

I never learn. I never fucking learn.

"What I'm trying to say" I gritted out " is that somebody screwed with the big picture. I mean, look at me: no scars, no mark, I never in my life wore a green uniform, the hair. God, the hair!" and I desperately tried to tame it down. "Where the hell's Vaako? Or Aereon? Why aren't they here with us? Why don't they pop up if we think of them? They were on the ship with us. And then the pain…Do you still feel pain? 'Cause my shoulder should be giving me hell by now and nothing's happening! As a matter of fact I never felt** this** good in my entire life! Christ!"

I knew I was dancing on razor blades coming out to him like that. Giving him ample opportunity to deal the fatal blow that would send me crawling on all fours for a fleeting moment of pleasure. And I had nothing to hang out to this time around. We were alone, in the darkness. Together. And, despite the anger that was building up inside me into a full blown kill rage, I was still high on the feeling of having a part of him in me and the rest of him on me. Riddick was an addictive animal. Hell, every merc, bounty hunter and bushwhacker this side of the universe knows that. And having him around, in full rough-hard-and-needy mode was not helping my cause. I had to snap out of it, before I showed him exactly how severely fuckable he was:

"Gimme your shiv!" I barked at him.

"Excuse me?" he said disbelievingly.

If he ever doubted it, I think at this point he really thought I was losing it.

"Cut the crap and hand it over! What are you, five?"

He reluctantly pulled out his shiv, but handed it over with a grim smirk that told me he wasn't gonna play nice:

"Say please!"

"Fuck you!"

"Well, you do kinda owe me…"

"Oh, shut the fuck up!"

I snatched it from his hand, furious that I let myself get dragged in one of his stupid jaw-jacking sessions. Again.

Stupid Riddick.

Stupid shiv.

Stupid hair.

I rolled it in rope-like fashion and with a swift flick of the blade I hacked it off and threw the aggravating locks away! Triumphantly.

"There! Much better!"

A deep sense of satisfaction overwhelmed me. I felt like I was my own self again. He just sat there looking pitifully at the discarded locks.

Come to think of it…I felt nothing like myself. I kinda felt silly. And childish. I gave the shiv back to Riddick and said in a meek voice:

"Look, it will grow back. Eventually."

The big man looked at me sympathetically and a smirk tugged playfully at the left corner of his mouth:

"What just happened?"

"We're tired, we're dead and we're lost. And we just shared a moment of temporary insanity. For fuck's sake!"

The silence had turned awkward. And the insensitive bastard had the gall of looking skeptical. It was no surprise I snapped at his stupor:

"Shit! This does not help things, but you just don't get it, do you? Everything I do, I seem to fuck up spectacularly. As a pilot, I crashed a ship, as a human, I would have killed 40 people in cold blood, as Carolyn, I managed to get myself killed and accomplished shit. Sheer fucking nobility got my ass in a fucking shit hole of a verse! What greater purpose was there in my sacrifice? Sure, Aereon would tell me tall tales about saving what is left of a great race that could fight the Necros and restore balance to the universe. Well, bullshit! The priest is dead, the kid is dead and quite frankly, I don't give a damn about 6 billion dead Furyans that I have never met and who, by the way, couldn't be so great, seeing as they're all…DEAD! Right about now, the only person I care about is you! So, each way you look at it, I'm still screwed! Therefore, seeing as we're getting nowhere at the present time, I think I'm entitled to much more than a moment of temporary insanity!"

Said insensitive bastard did not flinch.

So, i resorted to screaming and making wild gestures with my hands, trying to drive the madness away.

"Tell me, Riddick, who cares about me? The Preds? I am at their beck and call. My crew? With me around they could probably live forever. The Universe? They think I'm dead. _**You**_? I'm an easy fuck, even when I'm pissed at you. So, please, save me the asshole hall of fame smugness act! I know that in your own little self-centered, egotistical, sadistic world is all about your narcissistic self, but guess what?! Look to thine own ass first policy was a whole lotta headache less to deal with for me!"

I spat out the words that would be my downfall. Riddick, however, was not feeling my distress. In less than a blink of an eye, he had his shiv on my neck and the look of death in his eyes:

"Is that so?" all playfulness and companionship was gone from his rumbled voice and cruel demeanor. Suddenly, the intrigued but tame animal had shifted into something wicked, cynical and twisted.

"Not liking the terms of your resurrection, huh? Oh, poor you, Carolyn! You've been through _so much_ shit, right?! While, the rest of us, happy mortals have had the time of our fucking unnaturally long lives! The holy man left a daughter and a wife behind when the Necros ghosted him, d'ya know that? Jack was slaved out, raped and thrown in slam and I freezed my ass off thinking of you for five fucking years. Thinking you was dead! Now, I wish you stayed that way! Cause you're alive and _useless_, and they're gone for good!"

The words were deliberately cruel. But then again so were mine. I had gotten my very own don't-you-want-to-try-to-die moment and I was not letting it slide:

"Wanna know something? The only reason I came back was because I couldn't stand a bunch of shit-skulls fuck with the best hunt in the verse! I was saving your sorry ass for the Preds! And as for that pathetic little whore who ended up decorating Necropolis, I sent her to slam! I was the one who shipped her merc-aspiring ass to Crematoria! Traded her off for a fucking hellhound!"

The shiv breached the skin and drew blood, as Riddick's eyes were splinting my soul. The blade inched closer to the life supporting artery. If only he would finally open it and be done with it!

"Come on, Riddick, we both know all you want to do is shut me up! It's not that bigga job for you, is it? Finish it! Finish what you started five years ago! Prove the dumb blonde broad you finally got to screw that no one fucks with Richard B. Riddick! I got you this far…now ghost me, motherfucker! That's what I would do to you!"

I wasn't crying. I. Was. Not. Crying.

But, God damn it, I think he was. The tremor in his eyes traveled the length of his arm and shook the blade, scratching against the muscles in my neck.

Suddenly he stilled.

"We're not alone." He barely whispered through the tightness in his throat.

A soft, but authoritative preaching voice resonated from a slightly darker spot in the overall blackness of this place:

"_This. Solves. Nothing!_"

"Stay out of this, Imam! Riddick was in the middle of something important here!" I rasped out without a second thought.

The blade that had slowly retracted was back with a bite:

"Was I so wrong about you, Carolyn? About your survival instincts? Did I make a mistake by bringing you here?" was Riddick's remote, detached inquiry.

"You made a mistake! That's what you want to hear, isn't it? Now, cut the small talk and do me already!" I grinned viciously at him.

"Why are you doing this?"

Because I was a joke. And nobody could see it. Not _them_, not Riddick, not even the Yautja. Except for Johns. He saw right through me, the hyped-up motherfucker: I _was_ the walking ghost, my life _was_ the steaming pile of meaningless shit nobody gave a rat's ass about. It was always my death that got them all wound up. And I was sick of it. Sick of playing hero. For once I would really like to try victim.

"**Because my give-a-damn's busted!**" I snarled.

Riddick's eyes charged with electricity, but instead of a clean right to left, the shiv went southwards across my chest, leaving a trail of crimson blood in its wake.

"I want you to remember this moment! And all the moments that came before it! 'cause I'm gonna make you wish you were back hanging from a lizard's ass if you ever throw this shit at me again! End of discussion!"

He stayed his blade and turned his back at me, presumably in search of the _other_ presence. And all the while, all I could think of was: "Fuck! This is gonna leave another scar!" I guess in his own way Riddick had a point. Because it would be supremely ironic if we underwent all this "emotional turmoil" for the kicks alone. Even he is not that unnecessarily cruel. There had to be a point.

The voice I had unconsciously attributed to Imam returned, as if to soothe my inner demons:

"_We__ are all of us hybrid beasts: capable of great compassion and love, or hatred and horror. That is the knowledge you have given to him_. _He was merely returning the favor. Before you can understand the secrets of the Universe, you must first endeavor to understand yourselves. For you are now both on the same pilgrimage. The last stage to a journey begun a long time ago. _"

"You sayin' it's our destiny or something?" Riddick's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"_There is no such thing as destiny where you are going. Only the choices you make._"

"The fight begun will not end until the end."

It seemed so long since I had said those exact words to the Elder of my clan. _My_ clan. Ain't that something…

"_Precisely. What you have done __**together**__ has always been more than what you have done apart. Remember that as you near the end of __**your**__ fight. So put your petty squabbling aside and work against the evilness in you."_

That was Imam's version of "Get your shit together." Less graphic, more poetic. I missed him.

Riddick chanced a look at me over his shoulder. He looked sadly at the blood stained, shiv torn skin and I felt my own stupidity coming back to bite me in the ass. I moved closer to him, repeating the kill rage litany over and over again in my head: _Don't let the Mark enter your soul! Don't forget your Name! Don't forget your Home!_

"I'll remember." I said to him. "I won't forget. Never again."

I flashed my best smile at him, though it came out a lil' crooked.

"You know, smiling like that when you're about to die is a sure way to make people think you're crazy."

"Well, that's one thing I could do better."

"You're such a pain in the ass, Carolyn. Such. A. Pain. In. the. Ass!" he sorrowfully shook his head.

I patted him on the arm in response:

"Don't sweat. Next time we'll change position."

"That's comforting to know…"

"Your welcome. Now lets get outta here. Imam, lead the way!"

Nothing.

"Imaaaaam!"

Still nothing.

Typical.

"Why do they always do that to us?" I turned to ask Riddick. "It's freakin' annoying!"

"It's called hero status, babe. We're supposed to figure this out for ourselves." he grimly replied.

"I knew this sucked!"

I blew an exasperated sigh. Ok, so how hard can it be?! This is not the real thing, already established that. Nor is this the Underverse, or Imam wouldn't be here. So it has to be a dream. You tell the brain to feel pain and it will comply. If we are both dreaming the same dream, than we both must be asleep. It would naturally follow that we must both wake up. But how?

"We'll sleep it over!"

Now, he quirked both eyebrows at me.

"What?! You got a better idea?"

He leaned his head to one side and his lips formed a trailing "welllll…".

He was doing it again.

As I live and breathe, he was hitting on me again!

"Oh, no! I'm not going through this shit again!"

His mood swings were eating at my new found tranquility of inner self and I just couldn't let that happen.

"You stay here!" I pointed a very resolute finger at him. "I'll walk a couple of paces ahead. With a bit of luck we'll wake up on the same ship!"

"Where you goin'?"

"To fight the evilness!"

And true to my word, I did precisely so. But it felt strange to leave him behind. Unnatural even. Right then and there, I decided I would never do it again.


	21. Chapter 21 Passage

**A/N:**

**To Ellie: i hope you got my meaningless ramblings:) hope you keep reading&reviewing:D i'm full of hope today:D**

**To HopeK: you're the best, you know that?**

**To FitMama: thanks a bunch:) your encouraging reviews mean a lot to me:)**

**To Maria: actually i'm a little scared myself:D thanks for the great review;)**

**Wow, you guys are actually liking this. Thanks to all the readers and reviewers...your support keeps the muse on track and the chapters coming. Chocolate bunnies for all to munch on while R&R-ing! Enjoy!**

**P.S.: I get not men...and i write crappy fight scenes...life is sad...  
**

Some say that the rite of passage is one of the most formidable experiences the human being can undergo. But it is death that our faith considers to be the greatest transformation of all. Life is nothing but a dark, absorbing vortex of anguish and despair, filled with brief intervals of false hope and empty joy. Life is an accident, an error bound in flesh and saturated in blood. It is antagonistic and vain. Death…eternal and absolute. Inevitable and final. And towards this final end we drew now closer. I had accepted the poison accelerated destiny the woman of the Mark had imposed on me. With my Necromonger soul, I embraced the vision of the other 'verse and the reality of our last transformation.

However...

There was no flash of light in which I could recall the events of my prior existence, meaningless as it were. No faces of the crying victims – of the _unfaithful_ – that I had brought under the sword of my newly acquired religion. No judgement. No soul-shriveling regrets. Not even all consuming pain. I did, however, envision the questioning face of Lady Gwendolen , her blonde kitty-like face that my wife abhorred so much. My wife… Her voice had faded in me during my transgression. My body, lax from the poison, could not now remember her fiery touches. Nor did my soul long for her. It was…as if I never even existed. Death was dull.

At last, after what seemed a lifetime of excruciating non-existential boredom, there was a light. My whole being soared to the opportunity. I dutifully followed the beacon signalizing the much craved for experience…only to find it haling the ship's incoming descent. Much to my chagrin, I was alive upon my wakening. And so were the two Breeders aboard the small vessel. The emergency system that had fished me from the depths of my uneventful slumber had apparently activated when the previously plotted course was no longer sustainable. So much for our smooth transition to the Dark New Worlds. We were literally crashing into the Underverse.

There was a lot of commotion that I could detect as I lay half awake, but preternaturally aware of my surroundings. The Breeders were fastening seatbelts, hitting buttons, running diagnostics and checking trajectories. The woman seemed erratic in her movements, almost on the brink of a full-fledged panic attack, but I knew enough of Breeder pilots to interpret her actions correctly. Instinct increases efficiency. Automatic responses mean less time to think about the impending collision. A good pilot knows it is not the fall that kills you…

"It's the sudden stop at the bottom."

That rumbling voice shall haunt me till Underverse comes. I prayed for the ship to crash faster. But I could not refrain myself from saying:

"Are you a mind reader, _Lord Marshal_?"

Might as well find that out, before I die.

"Heh. It's been known to happen."

Between the executions of two rather pointless commands, the woman, Carolyn I think was her name, addressed me in the same condescending manner as before:

"Well, it's nice to see you made it, _Commander_. Sleep good?"

I was lying on a cold metal floor with blood flowing from me and poison coursing through my veins. My stiff body growled of its own accord.

"Apparently not as good as you." Riddick muttered silently.

There was a rather abrupt left turn I thought the ship wasn't even capable of doing anymore. I almost toppled over to the other side and connected my skull with the hard wall. I cursed furiously under my breath and verbally lashed out at the mad pilot.

"Woman, were did you learn to fly like that?!"

"Why, Vaako, am I scaring you?" and she turned her eyes to me.

They captured the metallic, grayish reflection of the ship's inner walls and the light flickering off my armor. Her hair was ablaze against the reddish flames licking at the main viewer as the ship sped up and burned in the atmosphere. Stormy blue and liquid gold. A sickening combination. And, for a moment, nothing was said, nothing was heard. Truthfully, she _was_ scaring me.

"Good."

The engines roared in my ears once more and my bowels would have emptied but for the hollowness of my being. Riddick was the patient observer of all of this. To my altered train of thoughts, his body had been molded as a giant recorder, an organic depositary of minute details he could wield gently or use lethally. _He sees everything…_

We crashed.

_Cryosleep is so underrated, _I thought as I woke for the second time around. I could distinguish a steady thumping in my ears that I identified as a pulse…and then two…and then…three. The sharp click of unfastened seatbelts was a million heated metal shards through my skull and every breath had a gravel-like quality to the sound.

Things are real only if you believe in them.

Pain is real only if you believe in it…

But so is fidelity…

_Loyalty until Underverse comes._

Someone opened the hatch and my avid nostrils took in the scented air coming in. Musk, sweat, the sweetness of decrepit flowers and something that smells like it crawled out of a swamp. Very…_earthly._

Carolyn makes firm contact with my armpit where the armor is vulnerable. The tip of her boot is insulting.

"Wake up, Sleeping Ugly!"

When I finally open my eyes, her upright figure is larger than life. There is a fresh cut across her chest. It bleeds in solitude, uncared for. Suddenly, I am hyper-aware of her every bodily odor…and surprised to find out she has virtually none, but for a vague intake of antiseptic and the hint of rusty copper her blood gave off. There was a tightening in my muscles that she must have caught whiff of 'cause she jumps back with pred-like ease. How curious that the fear should only graze the surface before it completely leaves her features alone, supplanted by a mock grin.

"Whoow there, little pup!"

I spring up and move threateningly towards her retreating figure. _This_ is my territory. I am a Necromonger of the Underverse. I am The Necromonger. She catches on to that thought and inexplicably smirks. There is a side of her that would gladly watch me die by her own hands and yet she backs off and stays her weapons. We are on the ramp, her retreating, I advancing. There are voices outside that I do not bother to hear. But her voice forces itself upon me:

"You know what they say, Vaako, if you can't lower heaven…**Raise. Hell!"**

I lounge at her with a feral cry, only to stumble into _him_.

"_Riddick!_"

We are both too close for comfort. He has fathomless quick silver eyes. But I have an armor.

The two of us bitter men on the darkest side of the 'verse, he, an animal, I, not quite human myself.

I had once admired his flawless fighting style. Fluid. Unstoppable. Unmovable. Precise. Instinctual. Intelligent. Deadly. What a paradox this man is. Still…

I think…I think I'm going to enjoy this.

Among the Necromonger warriors I was a feared and respected fighter. My superior strength was however an asset I preferred not to use in combat, unless a dire situation called for it. Unlike for the others of my faith, it was still an acquired trait, something foreign that I had yet to master completely. It was like a skin I could not shed and which thickened with every brawl. Weapons were of much greater use. I was an excellent marksman and axe-wielder. But this was not an armor-burdened Necromonger, nor a panic-stricken opponent, fueled by pure nerves only, that I was fighting. Riddick was a wild animal, a predator by nature, a killer by design. He was manipulative and would most definitely twist _my_ advantages to _his_ use. I had witnessed his prowess during the fight in Necropolis, when he delivered the final blow to a beast I could have only wounded. And there was, of course, the other issue…

"Come on, boys, put on a good show for me!"

And the words seemed to come from a thousand Carolyns around us. The fetid air and yellowish fumes cleared the stage for our performance and the Hunter who chanced to be a Breeder was our thousand-faces audience. I could feel Riddick closing off to her resonating presence. This was not her fight. She would not intervene.

We circle around each other for a while, to buy some time to think. My mistake. In a fight, hit first and hit hard. The slightly coiled close quarters stance Riddick was sporting generates a powerful strike. The animal is gaining in on me, cutting up little pieces of its prey, even as I sway and turn with ever increasing speed. To let the spirit take precedence over the flesh could be my salvation now, though I am countering every offence. We are well into our first minute of fighting and I haven't connected with his body yet, while his attacks grow stronger, faster, more aggressive. Brutality is however kept at bay. He deems me not _such_ a worthy adversary and that thought alone enrages me enough to draw his blood. The force of the impact leaves both of us a little unbalanced. We stop long enough for me to acknowledge that there is no respect between us and fear is one-sided. And that he is in complete control. Of body and soul. Both of which are mine.

His flickering eyes hold a grip more vicious than any imprisonment.

"Just for the record, Vaako, I ain't the one who's not committed to our little one on one."

Why, the insolent son of a….

Something erupts out of me, sheds its stiff confinement and lounges at him, quartering my opponent into a more defensive stance. My hands have him before my flesh even touches his.

"If you're so smart, how come you're dead with me on stillborn planet?" I grit between clenched teeth.

In my grasp, the Breeder snickers:

"Sex deprivation…"

Riddick has me flat on my back in less than five seconds. The blow he administered could do fatal damage to my nerves if he keeps applying pressure.

"But you…_you _wouldn't know anything about that, would you? My guess's you're getting a lil' too much of that fine scaly ass! Everyone has the right of being stupid, Vaako, but, truthfully, you abuse the privilege!"

And just as fast as he overpowered me, I was let free.

"Never should've bowed to a man who has _all _of your lives to risk! Now get up and wise the fuck up!"

My mind is once again assaulted by the memory of Lady Gwendolen's determined face and the words that marked our last encounter:

"_We will be different men upon our return…"_

"_You will have returned to a different place…"_

Surely, her support of Riddick as Lord Marshal did not go that far...surely she was no match for my wife. Our plan was most carefully devised. She assured me that upon my return from the Hollowed Grounds, the faithful will side with our cause: a Breeder that inspires Fear could only smother our Holy Faith. _We do it for the Faith…_were her very words. And those who would not join forces would be shown no mercy. _There is no mercy for the weak…_those were my words. Could his power be so great that he could deal a fatal blow to our religion even from light years away? I was in awe.

"What are your intentions?" I rasp out.

"Say something badass, do something badass and get the fuck outta here. Why, what are yours?"

He is sly. He would have me torment myself over the true meaning of his words.

"Stay alive."

I mean that. He should know.

"First you gotta get a life."

And this, coming from an outcast, a hunted man, ushered into adulthood by the countless bodies he left behind. I would laugh, but I fail to see the sense in his words. I always have, ever since I was a child, unable to comprehend the pleasure those around me shared in living in quiet desperation. My loyalty had a palpable God. My God had traveled to the gates of the Underverse and returned the Holy Half Dead. Riddick is no God. And, yet, he kept what he killed.

"Your life is with those _you know_. My life is with the one I love. None of us can change that." I say as I finally stand up.

He looks me dead in the eyes and rumbles:

"Both of us got somethin' to lose. So you better know who you got left behind. That's Death Row out there" he says pointing towards the darkness ahead of us "and if you're not ready…you're no use to me."

"And if you're no use to him, then you should get busy dying. In the most extraordinarily stupid way. He might actually like you then."

The woman has returned. The crimson mark on her chest is beginning to annoy me.

"Look to that, will you!" I mutter as I pass her by.

"He's just jealous mine's bigger than his." I hear her impart to Riddick behind my back. "By the way, where is _his_?"

So it was Riddick who did that to her… Wonder why he didn't finish her off…wonder why he didn't finish me off… Afraid he might actually do it next time… when we are not being of use to him…

You know, there is a face looking at me. It looks like a Quasi-Dead. There are more of them. Looking at me. At us. And I find myself strangely drawn to their familiar faces. One of them actually blows a kiss at me. The great puddle of darkness around us shimmers and the fumes dance around their rakes like wet shrouds.

"_Wondering …_

…_about us…_

…_resisting…_

…_trying to shut us out…_"

"_Wondering …_

…_about us…_

…_resisting…_

…_trying to shut us out…_"

Over and over again.

_**Kill The Breeders!**_

I shut my eyes...


	22. Chapter 22 Resistance

**A/N:**

**To Maria: Wonder no more:) Hope you like it;)**

**To HopeK: Don't hate me...pleasssse...I am only evil once in a while:)**

**To Ellie: Hey, thanks:) that made me blush:)**

**Ok, guys, so here it is...after a long, excruciating wait...I don't know how it's been for you, but it was criminal for me... the story is drawing to a conclusion and it's getting harder and harder to write. serves me right for trying to write the Underverse. this means that it won't be anything epic - I'm _not_ David Twohy - but it will be sad...But enough said. Enjoy:)**

_**Wondering...**_

_**Wondering about us...**_

_**Realising that now we're in your head...**_

_**Beginning to fathom the dark thought...**_

_**Trying to shut us out...**_

_**Shut down the here and now...**_

_**Resisting...**_

_**But vainly...**_

_**Oh, so vainly...**_

I don't know what glued Vaako to the ground so steadily, but I do know that _they_'ve been on to us ever since we got here. Carolyn's been checking it out with that fancy cloak gizmo of hers while I was busy educating Vaako boy. Wonder if he's got a first name or something. You know, for variety.

_**Resistance is vain…**_

Thought I could distract them. Persistent motherfuckers these emaciated fellas. But I've seen the likes of them for most of my incarcerated life. This suddenly feels like Narcland central. I like that. Like that a lot. Could ask for nothing sweeter than a mindless carnage to fuck the drive for blood right back into its shitty hole. 'Coz I have a feeling Carolyn's gonna want another run-in with the sharp end of my shiv some time soon and I've always had it hard saying no to her skinny ass. Never, never have I had to fear that a woman's anger would bleed me… Kid did it once. That doesn't count. It was a lucky shot and I _might _have had that coming…

Highly unlikely, though.

But this contrary bitch?! She talks more shit than her ass can produce and it's killing me… I don't do hopelessness. Somehow, I gotta turn that un-flinchable death wish of hers towards others.

"Carolyn, are you with me?"

There is a definite tightness in my throat and tension winding my nerves. I'm not vain, never hadda reason to be, all the muscle I built in my body was for self-preservation only and if it earned a few admirative glances in the local whore house, I was not one to pine over spilt bodily fluids…of any kind. But the trouble with having so much muscle is that it could get tense. _Very _tense. The woman gives me throbbing _head_-aches that I can only _hate _off.

"I'm not against you, if that's what you're asking." is her stiff reply.

She is utterly ruthless. She's not good for me. Fuck, she's not even good with me. She's not perfect. But parts of her are incredible, sappy as that sounds. Namely, the ones that will not let go of anything she holds. And right now she's holding my six. Good! This way I can turn around and shiv her out from under my skin if she gets too cocky.

_**The dark thought…**_

_**Kill the Breeder!**_

_**Enjoy **__**the feast the Beast has to offer…**_

Carolyn has lost all sense of patience.

"Are you talking to me?"

Make that sense. All sense.

"Or are you talking to Big Evil over there?"

There is a cocky lopsided grin I keep wanting to give her. Among other things. So defensive, my Carolyn is. Have no one say she can't keep up with the big boys. It's a female-pilot-in-dick-land thing. My girl is not one to be underrated or powerless.

"Babe…" I point a stern finger at the ever increasing circle of zombies "…Kill!"

She shrugs at me and my currently favorite part of her comes out: wrist blades. Hell, yeah!

"I live to serve." And she swivels round to take on what's behind her in a haze of dark purple splotches. They won't be entering anyone's neocortex anytime soon.

Let the blood bath begin!

The here and the now completely shut down. Along with most of my brain. All but the primitive side, the animal side.

Fight. Kill. Survive. It's what I do best.

But they die too quickly. Some even speed themselves against my shivs. Like cattle. The sticky gooey stuff they pass for blood is all over me. It blocks my senses from outside threats. There are so many of them, dying around me, thrusting their slippery frames against me. The air is thick with the pungent scent of death, sickly purple as hundreds of howling faces inhale it from my lungs. So close. Too close for comfort. My arms feel heavy with the effort and my chest is burning up. And I'm charging up like I'm some fucking Energizer Bunny. If I blackout now, Carolyn's never gonna let me live this one down. With one last push and a growl that almost knocks off my vocal cords I topple the gaining crowd over and fire tongues leap from me, frying the slinky fuckers in one giant burst. The stench they leave behind stings my eyes.

I take a step back as a fresh host of Necro zombies tread the ashes of their brethren with their slimy feet. Behind me the smell of blood is overpowering. A stale odor cut with salty sweat. Vaako. He finally found something worse than me. Something worse for him to fear, that is. And there is another scent. Not rusty, but something like… peppermint. And heated metal. . I risk a glance only to see the back of Vaako's ponytail swing in the air as he ducks a flying disk that razes the tip of _his_ gun, the head off _their_ shoulders and a couple of inches of skin off _my_ right arm…

"_**FUCK!**_"

…and the guts out of the supplying ranks before it sharply veers left and returns in Carolyn's right hand. She turns swiftly on her heels meeting my death glare full on, jutting chin and everything.

"What!? I don't have eyes in the back of my head!"

There is something so primal about her right now that I'm sure my blood is bubbling from the gash, scalding hot. I groan deep in my throat, but she snorts and shocks Vaako into consciousness. Slap.Slap.

"Yo, Vaako Boy! Killed your own kind, huh?" She quickly inspects the grounds around him, piled with dead…_things._ "Guess they got promoted. Congratulations. You are now a true _killer_."

I've just lost all interest in those two as I'm absorbed in wiping my hands. I've been in the dirt all my life. So it's not like I'm liking it in the afterlife. And plus, Vaako got bitch-slapped. By a really-tempted-to-say-bitch. And yet he didn't fight back. _But you got soo razed. And yet you let it fly._ Now, my conscience does do some talking on occasion. I just ignore it, it gets bored and goes away. That's one thing we have in common. None of us went to charm-school. As Carolyn is promptly gonna find out. Sooner or later.

As I take in my surroundings, I notice the mist is clearing, uncoiling itself from the dead bodies lying around. The ground is sticky and muddy with their juices. Disgusting. Even more so, as Carolyn walks around making impossibly loud noises with her feet. Squish-squash, light and fast. There's a heavier squash-squish coming from Vaako, followed by a slow gurgling sound as he steps in something he should've'nt. He moves out of his stupor, kicks the offending guts away and points to a rising shadow that looks like a building of some kind.

"Alysum, the House of Shadows."

"Necromonger pleasure palace?"

I give Carolyn a how-is-that-funny look, but she rolls her eyes at me in a stand-off-ish manner. She's tired and sick. Whatever this place is, it don't have the same effect on her like it do on me and Vaako. Some clawed demon rips on my insides as the thought of a repeat of history enters my mind.

The _dark _thought.

I can't take that. I won't resist it. I didn't know it then, but five years of hate, anger and losing everything and everyone she had left me with, she had entrusted me with, had worn out my fail safe mechanism. It's rusty now and it creaks funny. She had brought remorse into my life. And something else that feels a lot like a hot metal rod prodding at the near vicinity of where my heart should be.

"…said to host the soul-shadows of all the truly faithful that have come before us. It is the Necromonger bastion of faith. "

"Well, it's the next stop on our little sightseeing tour, so let's pick up the pace, boys!"

She would've taken the lead, but I take hold of her wrist and apply just enough pressure to get the message across.

"Where you goin', Captain?"

She knows I only call her that when it amuses me to. It doesn't amuse her though. When she frowns she goes all angry kitty-like in the face.

"Let me check if it looks clear."

I scan the area without letting go of her hand, thin and frail against my massive limb. It occurs to me that I could break it like a toothpick.

"How's it look?" Vaako asks.

I didn't miss a beat:

"Looks clear."

Muffled at first, Carolyn erupts in laughter. It's a soothing sound, unlike the high-pitched tones I know she can reach. Vaako looks at her like she's losing her minds, though I can tell she hasn't laughed in a long time. Doubt she even sneered all that much either. But I like it. The feeling that there is history to my answer and someone to share it with.

I move forward, Carolyn a few pace behind me, at my right, Vaako trudging at my left. The building up ahead is gigantic. Truly epic, with statues of twisted bodies receiving the mark and helmed stern looking faces gazing down on us from their metal encasings. We climb the stairs leading to a great entrance of sorts.

"I've seen this before…" Carolyn whispers as she inspects the architecture.

"How so?"

"On Yautja dominated planets. Where people thought they were gods. They would build large temples and decorate them with statues of the Hunters wearing the Mask and spears coming from the walls. Usually there'd be a sacrificial chamber in the center and levels below they'd keep the Great Serpents. Listen, Vaako, you sure we're not running into an aliens' hive? You know, monsters?"

Truth is, he did take his time in answering:

"No. There are no such legends in our faith."

I can hear her sigh of relief and decide I don't wanna know. Things that hurt her. Things that took her away from me. They're all the same.

"Here we are."

And sure enough, there are the spears coming from the walls and the central chamber illuminated by a dim light. I squint a little to see the lonely figure sitting in the middle of the room. Wet sniffles echo down the long dark corridor. Shadows retreat in the dark. No menace. Go see the sobbing child. Carolyn is way ahead of me and she moves fast, too fast to stop. One of these days, the two of us gotta change our child-related policy. Vaako and I catch up with her at the outer rim of the chamber. Now I know where the light comes from: an opening in the ceiling that lets a yellowish moon shine down on the scrawny kid. A little girl, no more than five or six, with her back to us.

"Moon-touched." Vaako whispers sadly.

"What?"

"Sometimes the conversion…malfunctions. Or there was something previously wrong with the convert. In the head. We call them moon-touched. That's why she's here."

"Sweetheart, come here. Come here and tell us what's wrong." Carolyn coos to her. If she ever talks like that to me, I'm gonna make a fool of myself.

"Come here, sweetheart, tell us your name. Shh, don't cry."

The kid straightens up and starts hiccupping uncontrollably between sobs.

"…'s…not s'possed to…happ'n."

"What's not?" and Carolyn advances in the light, moving towards the girl.

"No!" I yank her back by the hand, but she struggles with me.

"What the fuck's the matter with you? Let me go!"

"Stay still. She has no scent."

Carolyn looks up at me and pushes the ashen bangs out of her eyes.

"Wha'?"

"The kid's got no scent. Even the zombies outside had one. There's nothin' comin' from her."

The child is wailing now, hunched over herself. But no smell of salty tears or body sweat.

"That's because she is a shadow of one's soul." Vaako chips in. "Child, what is your name?"

The authoritative male voice puts an end to all the tear spilling.

"…O'dley."

I still haven't let go of Carolyn and I hold to her like dear life. Vaako is just as surprised as the rest of us.

"Well…_O'dley_…are you alone here? Where is everyone else?"

"Do we really wanna know that?" Carolyn asks, as she relaxes a little bit in my grip.

"No!"

The force of her reply screeches all through the building amplified by the acoustics. The kid covers her ears in pain.

"Baby, stop shouting and it'll go away." The woman in my arms appeals to her.

"Why does it make that sound?" the child tilts her head to one side as she tentatively releases the hold on her ears.

"Because you screamed." Hell, I can do five year old logic. My voice stirs her and there's a violent shake in her body.

"I scream'd and I scream'd and I was all alone. Nobody came."

"We're here now. Come here, let us take a look at you." Carolyn's voice is just below a whisper, but her heart is hammering in her chest. I can feel its vibrations in my own.

The kid jerks sideways and turns to look at us. She's skinny, bony with clear wide and empty eyes and dark spots underneath them. Her hair is short, curly and limp and there are two matching marks on either side of her neck. She's the single most ugliest creature I've ever seen. There's something deeply repulsive about…O'dley. I jerk Carolyn away for fear that that thing might touch my fair-skinned woman. It's irrational, really.

And suddenly, there it is. Something is leaking out of her, on to the floor, while she stares at us with barely restrained evilness. She doesn't even notice Vaako, just me holding Carolyn against my chest. And the dark liquid keeps flowing.

"You got something to tell _us_?" she says with a woman's edge to her voice. Her little fists ball in fury.

"Who's _us_?"

She looks at Vaako with a small hint of recognition. They're both converts.

"We're all here. In here." And she taps a scrawny finger to her egg-shaped head.

The dark blood pools around her and shimmers in the moonlight. Then the kid bores into us with her empty stare and a twisted sneer curls her thin lips. There is a small whimper coming from Carolyn who is clawing at my arms as the child speaks mockingly.

"O'dley…Jack…Kyra…the Convert… We. Are. All. Here."

_Fuck. Me!_

**OK, so O'dley is baby talk for Audrey...thought i should clear that up:) hey, if you guys are interested, go to my profile and hit homepage: I have all the chapters there with photos and music:)**


	23. Chapter 23 Balance

**A/N: chapter rated M! the vocabulary is pretty insulting...personally, I think the whole chapter is bad all around, but seeing as it's been a while since my last update, I posted it anyway...I know, I know, bad idea! I'm trying to bring the story to its conclusion, but it's hard and college just started, so, we'll see how that goes... I hope you'll enjoy, doubtful as I am:)**

**HopeK: if it weren't for you, I don't know what I would do;)**

**Maria: hey, glad you liked it:)**

**Ellie: tell me about it? "shudders sympathetically"**

**Something Girl: hey, you didn't finish! and I was just getting used to you;)**

I'm freezing cold, from head – roughly tucked underneath Riddick's resolute chin – to toe – stomping pointlessly against unseen floors. My every thought is wet, dripping steadily from a muddled mind like the dark blood ebbing from the child. I am blind to everything but her accusing gaze. The leaden heaviness of all my anxieties – past, present and future – have taken her shape: cold, barren, aimless…

There is sickness in my battered body – a straight consequence of the simple fact that I'm not build to last – that travels to my brain and eats away at my neuronal connections. So, for a little while, I let myself supported by Riddick's stone-shock frame. And I muse in those seconds which stretch into a slumbering eternity that with a liberally prescribed dose of imagination any reality can be beaten down to the ground. In my reality, I was a woman savagely wanted by a man. Wanted alive, that is. The Universe begged to differ.

Ultimately – I think to myself - if this is the Universe's idea of rebalancing itself, it can go and fuck itself with an iron fist. I took great comfort in proving Aereon supremely wrong: the real 'verse is always one step outside the realm of logic. And the simple fact that I'm standing here, with a massively creepy, crawling critter of a child giving us the evil eye and a massively pissed Riddick as a straight-jacket, thinking things over with such clarity is proof enough that logic is nothing more than a steaming pile of bull fucking shit.

Consequently, I let out a long, slurped _Fuuuuuck!_ knowing that internally, Riddick is most likely doing the exact same thing. I'm pretty sure that he's popped a vein for me by now, but scratching at his arms is of no use. The O'dley creature just cocked her greasy, curly head a few seconds ago and kept that posture with a crooked smile plastered on her ashen face. I'm trying really hard to discern the faintest trace of the Jack I once knew or of the abused Audrey she once was in the uniquely depressing features of the small creature. Instead, I am regaled with this disturbing package that has the added bonus of a con-slut and con-_vert_. The black ooze _it_ is currently plopped into has almost reached the outer rims of the high platform. It flows towards it, though there is no current here, seeping constantly out of O'dley's body. Involuntarily, I take a step back, only to be shoved further into Riddick's chest.

The snarky little shit goes bezerks at this point. She's wadding her taut little body through all the blackness, snapping at us. Vaako produces a hidden blade out of sheer instinct, whether to protect himself or us, I don't know and don't truly care.

"You shitty cunt!"

Those words coming from such a small pouty mouth are stuff of nightmares. I briefly wonder if the potty talk is an ingrained quality of all of Jack's personalities. Wait, Jack is one personality…which means…aaa…oh, well…

"You think we don't know whatcha did? Way back then, way back now! We know, fuck it, we know!"

Pity. I've never been one for anger management. She hasn't seen shit of my psycho happy mode and the things which come out of it. Perhaps I will exemplify, seeing as we're all reaching for some overly dramatic conclusion of sorts. And I really don't get what she's aiming at.

"And what exactly is it that you know?"

With superhuman efforts, I shake off Riddick's restraining arms and set out to perform the task at hand. I heard it's called disclosure. At any rate, it's about time we got some things in the open, 'cause I so did not drag my ass here, in the middle of freakin' nowhere, to be jacked by this living…dead…what-the-fuck-ever midget.

Shit, I've been stuck in Riddick's mindset for too long. I don't trash talk like that.

"What is it _exactly _that you think we've done to you?"

Accuracy. Sloppy just won't do for me anymore.

I close in on O'dley, with a lot less confidence than I exude, just to have Vaako whisper back at me:

"Careful…"

Great, this is turning into general insanity. The bad kind. I half expected Riddick to wring his vocal cords out for that alone. I can feel his discontent in my back, around the infamous Hammerhead scar, throbbing out of control. But my mind is all over the place, just like that black stuff on the platform. Muddled, just like O'dley's multiple identities. It can't home in on one single stimulant.

"You w'nted to leave'th Riddick…"

She reverts to her bubbling baby talk, crushing her hands against one another and twisting her face away from me.

"So did you."

"But I was alive! I was flesh and blood. Concomitantly." She whines pitifully.

Hehe. Owned.

So much that I had to snicker at that.

"Big words for such a little thing."

I took a step closer to the puddle of goo sporting the sick fascination of people looking down into the abyss while briefly wondering if it would drip from my fingers like dark chocolate syrup, scented with peppermint schnapps.

Her eyes are rolling aimlessly in their sockets as she sighs wistfully. I registered Riddick's warning and the sound of his long strides and the hand that looped its strong fingers in my belt and the force with which he held me in place, but paid no heed to it, intent on the monstersorous in front of me. Fascinating. Every time he touches me, the kid all but growls, barring decaying teeth at me.

"Jealous much?"

With something akin to lustful ferocity, the child crawled on all fours, gurgling low in her throat:

"You have no idea! Kira would love nothing more than to e-vi-sce-rate you! Cut you up and fuck you up!"

"Watch your mouth!" I deadpanned in that self-righteous tone Johns would use on Jack and her miserable vocabulary, mindful that I not truly take in the fur-ball coughing quality of her voice.

Just as I expected, she scurried herself backwards like I'd grown a second head…

But it was just Riddick.

…Well, a second head _and _a wart.

That was Vaako. Who was apparently having a conniption of some sort.

"Such words are not dignified for these sacred grounds! A Necromonger should know better! Letting matters of flesh burden your soul-shadow! That is unacceptable!"

His words were so strained, I thought he would choke on them. Yet, they were strangely insightful.

"I don't know, Vaako, I think you're missing the point."

The child's face twitched nervously as Riddick deemed it necessary to explain himself. Hoo-hah, the wonders never cease.

"Kid's kinda confused right now. But she's a good little girl at heart, whose gonna stop with all the teenage drama before I beat her head down in her own pucking blood!"

He tends to make his points by marking me with bruises. But that doesn't make what he just said less shocking. All this anger going between the four of us is charging up at nuclear proportions. Violently so, I want to hurt something. Perhaps that gloating O'dley, but I'm not sure yet.

She rants and raves and tears at her throat between shrilling cries:

"It's all about you and your stupid power trip, isn't it, you stupid egomaniac beast! Always about you! I hate you!"

"Watch me give a fuck!"

"Well, I have! And it's Never. With. Me!"

Oh, dang…. Thank you, God, for the consistency with which you shove a wrench up our collective asses. Basically, we've come so far for a hormonal teen.

And I might not make it past that. The sickness is getting stronger, so much so, that once again Riddick is the one inadvertently holding me up. If he weren't so dead set against that monstrosity, he'd be enjoying himself right about now.

My clothes feel like swamp leeches, coiling themselves against sweaty flesh.

My blood burns like acid in my veins and mute pain eats up entire terabytes of my brain. I feel like somehow spinal fluid is seeping through my eyeballs and a strange lump in my throat is convulsively reaching for a way out.

Somewhere in the distance, muffled by the sound of internal organs disintegrating, Riddick and my-best-guess-is-Jack continue lashing out at each other, bringing their belligerent lives into the argument. Those two…are not the most likely candidates to achieve an elevated status in a higher plain of existence… How could anyone have thought otherwise?

I hit the floor hard the moment Riddick pried his fingers off my belt, caught up as he still was in the little pissy contest they've got going on. The thump echoes through the dreary halls of Alysum, accompanied by the silent laments of slippery soul-shadows. They ruffle the perfect moonshine.

Screech and gravel stop molesting my eardrums. Instead, Audrey and her peering, childish eyes gaze woefully down upon me.

"…nice lady is sick…"

I expected Riddick to act…or something, but I can feel neither his warm presence, nor his silvery gaze. He's so strange tonight. Or am I the one bitterly different? For I can travel the road my senses show me no more: my sight is dead, my touch is numb, my memory is...gone. Flooded like the time I was three and fell into a water tank. I liked it there, floating around in the blue-gray depths of the metal container, taking so much liquid in, the paramedics had to resuscitate me for half an hour. I didn't die then, so I decided to go for the next best thing. I became a pilot. Riding cryo-drugs in a locker. Ain't my decision making a fucking peach?

Warmth. Not the blanket-y, suffocation inducing kinda warmth. But breezy and liberating. I guess I'm having one of them outer-body experiences. Or I would, if I could ditch the lump of acid-bitten, lizard-scarred, razor-marred flesh that is currently sprawled all over the floor, with blood coming from its left temple. Someone is chanting in my good ear:

"_Don't let the Mark enter your soul! Don't forget your Name! Don't forget your Home!"_

Lou'An and his ships are waiting. To destroy. Orders. I gave orders to retrieve the body. Lya and Garreth. That's what I told them. Protect the crypt at all cost. Even if it meant going against the Trinian's standing orders. I had hoped they would think of something intelligent like smuggling it out. But sometimes they had this brainless and stupid routine that tended to complicate things.

"_The answers are within you if you would only choose to remember._"

Am I lucky enough for this to be Aereon?

By the sound of the gentle scolding laugh thing, I'm guessing not.

"_Survivor girl. Riddick's captain. Warrior of the Yautja. There is still strength in your soul. That human soul that will not yield to death that which we hold most dear. If we are to live again, strong and proud as we once were, you must also live._"

"And we'd be?" my soul has a funky voice, irate for some reason.

"_We'd be the opposites. Ever wonder why this place of death sickens your body and drains anger from the Riddick? For in doing so it depletes you of energy. Without energy, we cannot protect. The Wrath of a Wraith is a terrible thing to behold…the Wrath of a Furyan is a terrible thing to withhold. _"

Furyans! Hence the reason for my irritation. F-u-c-k!

"_It is a funny thing_" the voices snicker "_how frustration never seems to let go even in your moments of dire need. This is one of your most endearing qualities. _"

"Please, don't fangirl over me just yet. I'm not all that crazy about you myself."

"_Oh, that is of little consequence. We have already looked into your heart, tested the strength of your body and the resilience of your mind. A human with a Hunter soul! The Great One must have wept when he found you._"

"How? How could you possibly know that?"

"_How could we possibly not know? Have we not been honored to be the hunted for so long? We are Killers of Men. Yautja are Hunters of Men. It's safe to say we've met._"

Somehow they sound just like Riddick right about now. Enunciating bold, yet cryptic statements.

"_You must rise now, Survivor girl. You have died for Riddick. It is time you live for him._"

"When will it be time for me to live for me?"

Something of a soft caress ghosts over my right cheek.

"_That time has already been spent. There is __**life**__ waiting for you, little __**Breeder. **__Make us proud. _"

…the fuck?! And just like that, I'm back to falling to the ground, only this time I manage to salvage my temple from a good blow. Audrey is in mid reversion so I still catch a glimpse of her slightly darker sides. I stare the disobedient wretch down even as Riddick is violently pulling me up.

I swerve towards him and viciously glare at his insufferable arrogance and that of his fucking ancestors.

"Fuck! You!"

…lousy bitches that died and left him to fend for himself. Fuck the Balance! Fuck the Universe! And most of all…

"Fuck you too!"

I jump on the platform and land with a splash in front of O'dley. I guess she did not see that coming.

"I'm so fucking done with what everyone else wants! I came here for Jack and so help me my fucking blades I'm not leaving without her, if it means ripping her from you!"

O'dley staggers backwards, the tips of her curly locks smudged with the dark blood. Hell, the damn thing is all over me by now. But I've been covered in blood and gore, and spit and acid before. I'm tougher than that.

I incline my head slightly, just a bit of a bad habit I picked from the Yautja whenever I'm curious or assessive. Such a weird little girl…kinda gives you nightmares, doesn't it? And the black stuff is nowhere in the same dimension as chocolate. It's just boiled muck.

"You really went over your head with the décor here, didn't you, O'dley? A very _artistic _approach…"

Every semblance of life is drawn from her features in the steady rhythm of clapping hands. She's reverted to being the broken sobbing doll she was when we first came here.

"I scream'd and I scream'd and I was all alone. Nobody came…"

Wait for it…

"Nobody but _him._"

The clapping gives in to the sound of boot-clad footsteps.

"And I must say, she's been a delightful companion. Wouldn't you agree?"

"**Lord Marshall!**"

Vaako is on a roll today with his gaping fish expression.

"Dead Lord Marshall."

I never get tired of hearing his voice. I stand tall, wishing him to see the smile he puts on my face, the bald, arrogant prick!

"Welcome back, Riddick! Now, hold on tight, 'cause we're getting outta here!"

Today is not the day for the Universe to prove me wrong.


	24. Chapter 24 The song of history repeated

**A/N**

**HopeK: you are my secret muse;)**

**Ellie: wow, didn't know it was that bad, but...i kinda hoped it would be:)**

**Maria: i'm glad you got that reaction to the breeder comment, that was my intention: i don't plan to turn the Furyans into some nice talking victims!**

**Alright, here's a box of yummy chocolate bunnies for my faithful reviewers, Hope, Ellie and Maria, you guys are great sticking with me for so long: and for my other silent readers: the review button doesn't bite, trust me, i checked, it is highly domesticated:) a simple "hello, i hate ur story, finish it up" will do;) as for this chapter, it's Jack doing the talking, so it's ok to be confused by the change of perspective! enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: if you can recognize it, it's not mine!**

When I was a young girl, of 'bout 4 or 5, I liked to play dress-up in my mother's quarters while she was beautifully wasted on the kitchen floor. I would put on her fancy glittery garbs, all in intense nuances of techno-silver, and wrap them around my body, hoping that, as if by magic, the bedroom mirror would reflect back a grown-up version of myself in my mother's clothes. It was the closest thing to playtime I ever had. It stopped when my father caught me, one day, and the grown-up magic reflected in his hungry eyes rather than in the dusty mirror. Soon after, I became a boy and my childhood as a girl ended with the incarceration of my mother for drug induced schizophrenia and the collapsing of my father on the same kitchen floor from a pretty shitty aimed blow to the head. Audrey Be Good was nowhere to be found. Instead, around the same time, Jack B. Badd – the intergalactic terror that plagued every gov agent and juvie officer in three systems out of five – hit the streets and surfaced on the passenger manifest of one ill-fated Hunter-Gratzner.

Now, you see, Jack could talk like a dick, but most definitely did not have one. And this one guy, that actually had some to spare, saw right through her. She worshipped him. She had prayed for him to come for as long as she could remember. To save her. To protect her. To be her friend. She had found a kindred soul. Someone tainted, like she was. She didn't mind playing the retarded side-kick part. As long as they were together. Riddick and Jack. Jack and Riddick. And then he left. Truthfully, he had left a long time ago, she just wouldn't see it for what it was. Or rather, he had never returned from the darkness across the landing ramp that had swallowed Fry.

She would seal her ears whenever, caught in a trance, with those eerie eyes that she coveted so much glued to an invisible spot somewhere in the distance, he would whisper with frightening gentleness: _Not for me…not for me…_

She would shut her eyes closed and hold them so tightly every time his goggled head would jerk violently towards the blonde-haired rift-rafts of the New Meccan spaceport. She pretended not to notice that he hardly slept for the first – and last – few days at Imam's and when he did so, for however brief a time, he would inevitably wake up covered in sweat, muscles clenching and unclenching under his tanned skin.

It was post-traumatic shock. It had to be, Jack would say to herself. Imam used to pray for hours, obsessing over some worn-out beads without eating, without sleeping, without taking a freakin' dump, Allah forgive her foul wording. She had nightmares that left her sensitive to loud noises. People in large numbers, the crowds at the market place and their incessant clamour made her want to kick something. She couldn't scream for fear of her own roaring voice and only her considerate attitude towards Riddick's night-vision issues prevented her from turning on all the lights in Imam's dimly-lit joint on full glare.

She was a fool to believe Riddick would somehow offer her the emotional comfort and stability she so desperately needed, when the Big Man himself was battling his own blue eyed demons that held such a relentless grip on his soul. But Jack was still a child, no more than twelve. Her hair would grow back, no matter how many times she cut it, and the curls of a long forgotten Audrey would stamp her for what she really was: a frightened little girl, masquerading as a boyish street urchin. It was immediately clear to her that things had to change, that things had already began to change from the moment she shot that gun on the Kubla Kahn. Riddick's then cryptic words suddenly made sense: someday she would have to catch up. She could no longer be a burden if she wanted a shot at a life on the run. A life with _him._

And so, day by day, corrupted by repressed nightmares, the guiltless euphoria of being alive, the closeness to her living idol and the smell of gun powder and blood that never seemed to leave her anymore, the image of the blonde woman with sky blue eyes faded away. Her memory, discarded. Her sacrifice, ignored. The pain she caused - in her and in the ones close to her – Jack could live without. Jack had her own blue-eyed devil now. Only once did Imam try to speak of her. Conveniently, when Riddick was not around. The Holy Man tried to apologize to Jack for his moment of weakness – as he called it – for which Allah would find a just punishment, as if Jack cared. That one moment when he extended his hand, beckoned to the "Captain", calling her by her given name, and would have left Riddick to die on the planet, without so much as a parting prayer. She stared at him blankly and cursed at her own weakness: she should have gone to help Riddick, she would have, were it not for Imam holding her down. A small voice in her head warned her that it would not have been the same, that Riddick would not have grieved so uncharacteristically if she should have died, but Jack ignored it. She left Imam to be judged by his god, she had more earthly matters – and one veritable underworld demigod in particular – to attend to.

But she was never given the chance. Riddick was gone, left while Imam was pouring his soul out to her. Night turned into day, days into weeks and before any of them knew it, months had passed without a word from their reluctant savior. That was the hardest lesson she had to learn: Jack was weak, she couldn't cut it. Jack lost to a dead woman just like Audrey before her had lost to a mad mother. Heck, Jack would probably lose to a fang-rimmed pussy of a whore with no teeth. So, Jack picked up the scissors, thought about cutting her hair, decided against it, considered slashing her wrist, deemed it to messy for the Holy Man's spotless floors and finally let the insanity pull her in. The murderer of Antonia Chillingsworth was given a pretty face, framed by ebony curls, with piercing green eyes that she would soon turn silver or so she swore. _She _– a killer named Kira.

I thought nobody would ever dare to leave Kira behind. Because she would fucking kill them if they did. Which, of course, happened. Quicklier than I ever anticipated. But, by the time they slaved me out, I was too jaded to give a damn. Most people live their entire lives oblivious to the horrors I witnessed in only twelve standard years. By the time I was fifteen, they counted me among those horrors as well. When they passed sentence, I felt as if I had finally achieved something, that I had fucked up my life so brilliantly it almost seemed as a reward. My transformation was complete: Kira had yet to be introduced to the concept of remorse, which made her ten times stronger than her previous aliases. It made her as proficient a killer as Big Evil himself.

Riddick. The man lurked in the back of my head like a thirsty blood bird. I always said you shouldn't be scared of what already happened. But as I delved deeper in the darkened world he owned with his shined eyes, it came to me that maybe I never really knew him at all. Kira knew only bloodlust and hate. Sex and razors. Kill or be killed. Be somebody in nobody's land. That was the extent of her existence. But in a place like Crem, spatial limitations also meant less corpses to ghost, lest you molest the natural order of the paper-pushers with the ferocious canines. Killing was an institutionalized function that left little room to psychotic episodes of pent-up rage. Adding the unspecified absence of any and all medical facilities, legit or otherwise, Kira was not a happy camper.

There were inmates and there were convicts in that hellhole of a prison that was Crematoria. Kira didn't quite fit in any of those categories. She wasn't a complete whore either, because she simply didn't like being touched. By default, she hanged around with the Guv, who let her play "who's the better killer" with those stupid enough to go for it. Basically, she did for the cons what the hellhounds did for the guards. In her spare time, she trained, for what purpose, Kira could honestly no longer tell.

Initially, I set out to find Riddick. Things just got complicated on the way. And now they began to reek of stale waters. My mind began drifting away in those murky depths. Questioning the blanks in my life – Jack's life. For I was a killer now and still I could not come to understand the workings of Riddick's mind. Why did he choose to keep quiet on my true gender identity when he could've left me at the ship, like I feared, and spare himself the trouble? Why did he stand up against Johns for my sake – and yes, he did inform me of that at some point on the skiff in his best oh-you-didn't-know-that tone of voice – ? Was it just an excuse to ghost the motherfucker or a matter of twisted Riddick principle? Why did he lock us in that cave if he planned to come back? And the one point five million credits question: what did Fry do to get him to come back? For so many years I had refused to even voice the damn thing in my head, let alone acknowledge the fear that he really wasn't coming to get us. The only person who knew of my dread was Fry and perhaps Imam, if he paid enough attention, but she never said anything, one way or the other. Neither comforted me, like she used to, nor flat out agree with my brief moment of illumination. For the longest time, I thought she left with that bottle of glow worms in hand just so she could know the answer to that one question. So she could graph it or chart it or work it in her vision of the world and people's actions.

That got the woman in me all riled up. And there, in the bowels of Crematoria, for the first time in 4 years, I thought of Carolyn Fry through the filter of forced experience Kira had accumulated. Trying to remember if there was any difference in the way she talked to us and the way she talked to Riddick. Trying to discern if Riddick acted differently around her. He knew she was a fake Captain, much like he knew I was a fake boy. He followed her steps, much like she followed his instructions. He was the only one, besides Johns – who surprisingly stopped at some point -, that called her Carolyn and not Fry or Captain. She called him…well, Riddick…but in a hurried voice, toning down the last syllable and managed not to make it sound like she was barking at him, like Johns did. She looked him dead in the eyes and acted like she saw something there that spoke to her in volumes.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't develop in me that which she had and drew Riddick to her. I could be just as tough as any of the bad boys, I could kill with the best and fuck with the worst, but I could not get a single glance of recognition from Riddick even with his hand between my thighs. Somehow, she had been his equal, as messed up as that sounds, while I was the kid that followed him around like a faithful puppy. I knew he was going to ride the surface without even looking at his face and I felt stupid saying that because _she_ would have known it too and it would have probably been _her_ idea. I ran my lungs out in frustration and vented it out on a mole-hole. I didn't care if I died, not if they – limp dicks with guns that they were – died first. And as usual, Riddick was there for the rescue. That was a nice change. Fighting alongside him with those Necro creeps. Playing my favorite game. Playful Riddick is god. Total. Terminal. Beautifully fatal.

And then he goes and dies on me. That was the cosmic second that perfectly illustrated for me the fundamental difference between Kira and Carolyn. She would've gone back for him, faced the sun and the pain. Kira stowed away on the Necro ship, pained, stained, cramped, smelling of blood, gore and ashes. She might as well live. But she didn't. Not really. She just…went away and was replaced by a quiet, sterile girl in black threads. She no longer even had curls, the plague of her more womanly personalities. She was promised a clean slate, a place where she could start over again. And do what? She never thought it through that far ahead. But it was nice to have something to look forward to. She deemed herself prepared for a blissfully uneventful life in oblivion.

And in this state, I thought nothing of the warning issued by the Quasi-Dead that something was wrong with me. Something had been wrong with me throughout my entire life. Why should this be any different? The Lord Marshall didn't seem to mind that at all. He spoke softly to me, but his words traveled great distances to reach me. Sometimes, there was an old lady that looked upon me with great pity in her eyes. And then a woman made of dark gold, and then the man with the metal gear. They came and went and I dreamt of that place of inescapable beauty that I had glimpsed in the Lord's eyes.

It was only a mirage, like the ones in Imam's stories. And Riddick ripped through it with brutal vitality. His eyes made no promises other than the one to protect, even as he asked me if I was still with him. I was. All the way. But he would never be with me the way I wanted him to. There was a barrier between the two of us that had a face I, unlike all the other women before and after me, knew very well. And to have him see her in me killed me faster than the spear I was thrust into. There were tears of sorrow for me, yes, but there was a flood of guilt for her. And he never knew it.

But I know it. I can feel it in the air he drinks in just because she breaths it, in the way he touches her, keeping her away from the malice in my soul, in the way he responds to the sound of her voice, curt and clear. And just because of that, four hearts break simultaneously. And that speck of darkness, that element of sadness which binds us to the O'dley we have become draws strength from us, even as scattered memories of the woman flood our collective minds, bringing forth alien feelings of warmth and comfort. Even in the fantastic world the Lord Marshall promised there was not such a thing remotely resembling the security and softness of Fry's touch. I should know, for that is a memory I struggled hard to repress.

In a Universe where the strong survive and the weak die, Fry made it okay to be weak. Fry made it okay to die. For people like me and Riddick, that is something so beyond our understanding, it shook us to our very core. And we both tried to fight this revelation as best we could. I can't speak for Riddick, but I wasn't resilient enough to fight this law of nature, so I chose to become strong, to become Kira, and surely then the world would now my suffering.

Looking in her eyes now, large and sorrowful, but so determined, I see myself as the four-headed monster child, wobbling in the filth my suffering sins have produced, slave to the diamond promises of a new fascistic world order and my own petty needs.

But she is different as well. She's always been the lean and naturally bleached type, but her skin is paler, not like mine or Vaako's, somehow translucid, like the little china figures my mother picked up from nomadic space-markets. How funny it is that she should look like my junkie mother's patched up china dolls…

"Are you glued with Super-Glue?"

…they had big beady eyes that rattled when they flew around the house. And clinking limbs my mom trashed with the wireless phone when she thought they spoke back to her. She would always feel sorry afterwards and try to piece them back together, but could never figure which part belonged to which doll, so they ended up looking like mutant war veterans. Looking like Fry does now, all done in fine pencil marks, red and blue.

"Yeah, I'm glued with Super-Glue. What about you?"

Fry speaks in rhymes. Audrey knows a rhyme too.

"The other day, upon the stairs, I saw a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today, how I wish he'd go _**away!**_"

What do you know, no more Lord Marshall. And no more Riddick and no more Vaako. Just us and Fry.

"Audrey?" she inquires.

I look at her as if it were for the first time. Of course, we never met, the blonde lady and me.

"…and Jack!"

She's just beginning to realize we're all alone under the pale moonlight, sitting in the thickened black liquid that glistens like a well polished obsidian mirror, or so the quiet convert girl informs us. She's the weakest of us all, nothing more than a shell for Audrey's traumatic past, Jack's hero worshipping and Kira's prettiness. She has the grayish green eyes of the dead and the dull mind of the pathetically insane.

"Jack, where's everybody else?"

Oh, yes, we were here with Fry. The Head Counter. The Shepherd beckoning to her stray sheep. Good thing she does that, or else we wouldn't have noticed Kira's absence. I shrug my shoulders at the blonde lady:

"I guess they went away. Nobody likes to hang around here more than they have to."

"But they were right here! You sent them away…"

"O'dley."

"What?"

"O'dley sent them away with Kira. And we're stuck here with you. Oh, look, there they are."

And I point a finger at our reflection in the dark water. But it's not really us: it's Lord Marshall and Vaako, Kira with her overflowing curls – I missed those – and Riddick, Audrey, Jack and Fry. Together and yet so far apart.

"Nobody comes here to play. O'dley just wanted to play."

"You sure it was O'dley, not Lord Marshall?"

How could he?...

"The Lord Marshall doesn't know us. He just used us when Kira stowed away on Vaako's ship. The Lord Marshall knows nothing other than the hunger for power. And he was sent here without any. Here he found O'dley. She came from the Quasi-Dead. She's just as vicious as they are, you know? A powerful mind in a rotting body. She's a heavy soul, a deep, slumbering, dead soul, feeling neither pain, nor sorrow. She gathers strength from the suffering and anguish of others. And there is no greater suffering than ours. She can see into our heart with much ease: the orphaned child, the abused teen and now you."

The woman hunched down and peered into our eyes, ignoring the black blood pooling at her feet. She had such clear eyes, so violently blue we could see ourselves perfectly in them. And we did not paint a pretty picture, what with our sleazy curls, eerie pale skin and owlish orbs.

"Do you know what she means to do with all this strength?" she asked in all seriousness.

We could not understand that. We pulled back, frightened by the blue eyed devil.

But she just kept on going.

"You said she came from the Quasi-Dead. What did she do to Audrey and Jack when Kira was converted? Where did they go?"

She was thundering away at us, so loud we had to cover our ears. Always, always the noise. Noises are always angry with us, rattling and prattling, screeching and creaking, a tumult of voices that echo in our head. The devil pulls at our hands and shakes us till our teeth clatter in our poor little mouth.

"Look at me, dammit! Who are you?"

Who am I? I can't remember, when I was young, if it was right to be…me. If only we could break her like the porcelain dolls, so she'd just shut up, but then we'd only feel sorry. Sorry like the lady on the kitchen floor, in a pool of drool, so high on whatever drugs were hip, singing with her barely functional mouth: _Start wearing purple, wearing purple, wearing purple for me now…_ She was a pretty mother, pretty dead by the time Jack high-tailed it out of the system. But Jack never had a mother named Laura who liked people to wear purple. His parents had abandoned him, that's what he told everyone. And everyone believed him, the funny man named Paris had even said so. He said: Did you run away from your parents, or did they run away from you?

Someone was always running away. And died. Paris, Shazza, Kira… Not Jack, no, she just went into hiding, playing dress-up in front of an imaginary mirror, in an imaginary world, where she still had baby curls and was called Audrey.

Tears were streaming down my face, when, looking into Fry's eyes, I realized I lost something I could not ever replace. I had lost my mind.

"I don't want to play pretend anymore. But there are so many, so many I can't fight without Audrey, without Kira, without the convert. I can't survive that way."

Fry cupped my head in her hands, those mighty hands of hers, cut and bruised and scarred and cold.

"But you can. You did. You are alive. You don't belong here. When they brought Kira in for conversion, you panicked and struggled and O'dley sensed the thoughts of Jack. My Jack. The one I met on the planet. The winner of a look-alike contest. The girl everyone else thought was a boy. That's why the conversion went wrong: you ran away and stumbled into O'dley and left Kira to fend for herself. You left her alone in her own mind. But she wasn't strong enough, had only her obsession with Riddick as an anchor memory. She had raked up so many sins to her name, she wanted to believe in the Lord Marshall's promises. And somehow, the convert's sacrifice redeemed the killer. I know that. I know."

She was crying too. Big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and falling in the shimmering fluid on the floor.

"There is a body waiting for you to return to. The body of Audrey all grown-up. It is time to know what you're really worth. Not Kira, not the convert, not even Jack. But _you _- the survivor. Be my survivor girl! Life is for the living. And what O'dley didn't tell you is that You. Are. Alive."

The dream of death has ended. The orphaned child, the death of mother. All must end. So whispers the quiet girl, with blood seeping out of the corner of her mouth. She cries for herself, but no more than a tear. It is the illusion of me and Fry sitting in the moonlight that will eventually correct reality.

_I would never leave you, sweetheart._

I hold on to the voice, to that hand. She's my anchor memory. And we have been here before, holding hands in the dark. Maybe this time we can stay this way.

"When I was a young girl, of 'bout 4 or 5, I liked to play dress-up in my mother's quarters while she was beautifully wasted on the kitchen floor." So whispers Audrey in my head. "But you already know that, so what do you need me here for?"

I didn't. Not anymore.

And so Audrey – the suffering child with the dead mother- wastes away in the dark waters.


	25. Chapter 25 Alysum At Last

**To HopeK: for all the support and homemade confectionery, I thank you...you are always an inspiration:)**

**To Ellie: I hope you'll like where we're going from here and you'll forgive my late update...if not, I won't mind:)**

**To Maria: I am so glad you liked it! YaY!**

**To Wildhorsefeathers8753: I'm so happy you're still reading my story:) hope this new chapter won't scare you away for good:D**

**A/N: Late is the hour of this update, but college is eating away my time:( I'm immensely happy you liked ch 24, it's one of my favorites too:) as for this chapter, I think it makes no sense and it's quite anti-climatic, but it's the best I could do under the circumstances. Enjoy!...I hope! (BTW, thanks to people who have added me on some list or other, don't shy away from the review button, they made it prettier just for you! and warm thanks for adding me to the Riddick/Fry community;))**

**Disclaimer: You recognize it, you own it!  
**

Alysum, though suffocated by genderless soul-shadows, is strangely quiet. Feeble yellowish moonlight lights up the shimmering depths of the liquid that puddles darkly at the feet of Lord Zhylaw, but bounces off his armor-clad figure, leaving him completely veiled in shadows. There is an empty circle that ripples softly where O'dley used to be.

A cold draft shyly whirls around the vacant space from which the Breeders have disappeared. Time flickers gently about the last two Necromongers to have passed the Threshold, _then _and _now_ a mere jumble of idle circumstances that dwarf our accomplishments as men once more accurately alive. The tension developing in the undergrowth of some semblance of reality has reached its dutiful epic proportion.

Children of The One Faith.

Devil's Hood.

Bringers of Death.

World-Enders… gods of our own creation, many a name have we been called.

Converter and converted is the one that now comes to mind.

Under the scornful gaze of immovable idols of old, we are being judged by statues with steel-injected orbs. The Universe seems to have gone against itself and lapsed back into its primordial nutshell, where One divided becomes Two…and so on and so forth, like a virulent disease spawning endless erroneous replicas of _flesh_ and _blood _.

Yet, here we stand, men carved in _rock_ and _steel_, men designed to tower mightily both in faith and in battle, I say, here we stand, unflinching, out of necessity rather than disposition. It occurs to me that my faith and his praise have always been a matter of necessity, cleverly disguised as affable disposition. But, in Alysum, we are both stripped of that which had previously empowered us and now we are left raw to the pains of squabbling emotions. The Lord glides artistically over the glistening depths and looks down upon his once loyal servant. For the first time, I feel it is only the slight difference in altitude between the central moonlit platform and the rest of the chamber that fuels his haughtiness:

"Well, a little overdue our meeting is, wouldn't you say, Commander Vaako?"

The all-encompassing phrase of _Loyalty until Underverse comes _dwindles and suddenly dies on the tip of my tongue. I realize I do not miss it, nor will I ever do so again.

"Perhaps _we_ are a little overdue, Lord Zhylaw. And past forgiveness, as well."

"Ah, not only a traitor to your Lord, but also to your faith?" he exclaims rather tamely.

"You expect much from me, milord. I apologize for my shortcomings."

There is nothing stirring in me now. And the reason behind it all is slowly creeping into my mind.

"In truth, I never expected much from you, Vaako." Zhylaw carries on, on a light, conversational tone, devoid of the more tyrannical aspects of his previous speeches.

"In truth, it was your wife I briefly acknowledged as a worthy opponent. Indeed, her wits and your strength almost undid me."

"Almost…" I chuckle softly. To think that such things have once pestered me…

"Her wits and my strength _almost_ undid you in the name of the One Faith. It is that what you mean to say, Lord? Really, can you still believe such a lie, here, now, as you are?"

His implacable countenance slightly twitched in an undignified manner. A foot dangled precariously over the edge, but he thought better of coming down to my level:

"As I am?..."

"An empty shell. A frail soul-shadow, mirroring the will of those stronger than you, of those you were never able to understand. You were man once yourself. Before the Great Crossing. And you returned with powers unheard of, undreamed of to command the Universe back into obedience. Tragic finger puppet that you are, you made slaves of us all. Slaves to broken lust and meaningless ambition. Slaves to the promise of the Heavens Beneath. Where is the glittering new world you and the ones that came before sought and preached and promised? A new beginning… faith in a clean slate…"

As he refused to come nearer, I got myself closer.

"For, let me tell you, Zhylaw, there is **nothing**, even **remotely** close to what **anyone,** in **any verse**, would call **clean** in this filthy, stinking, insulting pile of anal discharge you call the Underverse!"

This little man of much drama and woe, that I had once considered to walk among fields of godly bliss, this self-proclaimed eradicator of feeble crawling vermin, also known as the inhabitants of the Universe, was little else than a frustrated power-monger with a fetish for strangling weeping babes and uncomfortable body armor.

Upon further consideration, and an up-and-down-and-up-again inspection, which I pulled off magnificently disdainful, I would concede him the point of being somewhat of a genius strategist and not lacking in a sort of twisted charisma.

Needles to say, all my illusion are as of now thoroughly shattered. And I feel fine. As in nothing at all. A world of doubt seems to have been lifted off my shoulders. A quest for an identity that began with a lither version of Vaako – the foot soldier, and ended, spectacular-less, with a taller Vaako – now a Commander, on the other side of reality, is how my existence would be recorded in the Annals of the New World – whatever that may be – if my story ever makes it out of lonely, dreary Alysum.

Zhylaw fumed a flickering kind of fury, like a candle that is about to be put out, before managing to speak up in a voice that could subdue even relentless time:

"Oh, but my dear Vaako, _we all began as something else._"

For the longest time, I outwardly entertained the idea that this was something Necromongers used either to ease the remorse triggered by a lingering respect for humanity or to cajole said humanity into a continuous disrespect for remorse. Never did I take it as literal as this Zhylaw seems to take it now. Faced with my dumbfound-ness, the Lord smiles a titillating smile, which comes across rather disturbingly:

"There are millions of _us_ still left, millions of mongering entities searching to possess a QuasiDead so they can pass over when they so please, infinite ways in which to twist and bend this verse to their whim. For as long as there is ability left to believe, there is opportunity to ensnare.

Matter suffers, dies and is reborn into another plain of existence – one as nice and glittering and beautiful as you've ever imagined. And this gift has been given to man, who squanders it foolishly, leaving in his wake soul residue that is neither here, nor there, neither above, nor below. Forgotten somewhere in the rifts of this 'verse, breadcrumbs for the unfortunate bodyless to feast upon, until man – ever the conqueror of the unknown – stumbled across us and was bewildered. One does not simply refuse the Universe, Vaako. So man returned to his home and brought us along with him. We have made man the god of his world, where man was weak and fought feebly. Christened him in the blood of his enemies we have. Made him bow to the miracle of the Unholy Resurrection. We did all that, in this very Hall. It is time to return the favor.

For can you not see? It is all around you. The residue of each passing, the impurities man leaves behind in his transition, the seeds of rebellion that crosses not into the Great Beyond, it is all here, stored away by the unwilling who keep doing the impossible for the ungrateful. And for that, you hypocritical little beast, you owe us a debt that we intend to collect."

Truly you must be a Necromonger to understand the Necromonger way. Truly you must have dedicated your very breath to eradicating the Grand Error to comprehend the horror behind the One True Faith: that the salvation of man - either sinful, or just, either a believer, or an atheist, either logical or not – is elsewhere nothing but another smudge of dark: dark blood, dark eyes, dark thoughts… that I now begin to fathom. And the platitude of it all escapes me not. Truly, the Great Other that has spawned our religion to meet its dreams of carnality is, by all accounts, one most delightfully insane.

"It is you who cannot see." I murmur more to myself than to anyone else. If they are lingering about, the Founding Fathers of Our Faith have lapsed into the silence of their resurrected graveyards. What more there is to say?

"Life…is so imperfect. How can ever good come out of so much filth…so much wantonness…so much spontaneous worship of idle things? Death, on the other hand…death is good. You go to Heaven, you go to Hell, you go nowhere at all, it doesn't matter. Death keeps a fair deal: everybody dies. It is certainty. So death is a good guide. It is, indeed, a good start to any religion. However, it has always been my firm conviction as a Necromonger that death serves us to _break _through, not you to _come_ through!"

By this time, I was trudging halfway through the pool of blood. You learned real quick in my line of work – killer-for-faith that is – that blood looks black in the dark and only partly grey in the bright moonlight. It felt sticky and invasive, like it _wanted _to crawl its way back into my veins.

It was no surprise it was actually trying to do so, eating through my garments, ripping open the flesh off my legs and cutting open the silken threads burning dark-blue. One does not get to see one's circulatory system this close that often.

"T'is w'ere you 're w'ong, my dear V'ako." Zhylaw says in what would be considered as Zhylaw's voice if he suddenly were to loose his two front teeth.

"**You** are the **shell**. _**Our vessel**_."

And the Lord's irises suddenly double, two pairs of eyes occupying the same orbs.

Remarkably there is no pain as something weaves its tendrils up my decomposing body and my mind wanders to helmets once worn, with iron-sculpted faces staring back at you wherever you looked, the faces of great men who were reborn as greater gods…

_He sees everything…_

He saw nothing.

Zhylaw – not unlike the first of the Lord Marshals - indeed returned from the Underverse half alive and half something else. Or rather, _someone _else…as it turns out.

I distinctly remember the moon-touched child tapping a bony finger to a spoiled egg-shaped head: _We are all in here._

And now _all_ would be _me._

"O'dley!" I hissed.

She, or more accurately, he is sucking at his finger, then chewing at it till it oozed a foul smelling liquid.

"Hmm…" it spits out an offensive chunk of newly bitten flesh and continues "that would be a way to call me…"

The baby-talk is gone, replaced by a slithery, more exotic tone of voice. It is quite familiar.

"But it would not be accurate…any longer." It goes one remodeling its fingers into something infinitely more grotesque by biting off excess flesh until the bone is left all but raw.

"Such sturdy, gross fingers. I dislike them utterly…very _austere…_" it pauses to look at me closely. "Yours are no better, fret not, though I shall suffer." The side half of an index finger flies across the platform, plopping in the dark pool followed by a rain of spittle.

"Oh, you shall _suffer_."

The double irises, quadruple if you think about it, stare disbelievingly.

"Indeed, I do believe you're being serious. Or maybe just a little overconfident. I mean", at which point it begins to wave its hands with half eaten fingers around dramatically, "it's not like the loss of _one_ bothersome little girl…"

"So you've lost Jack?" I snort.

"…and Audrey and the Convert. But really, they were so dull. Always moping and pining for 6 feet tall convict meat. My ambitions are more…abstract…" it sighs wistfully.

"And then there's always Kyra! Now there's a force of nature. She's all woman. And has pretty hands."

"Then what do you need me for?"

I try to fight the invasion of my body's inner workings, but the dark blood coils tighter around my veins, digging into muscles, searing into flesh.

It sounds a tad disappointed.

"Vaako, always the slow one. I do so long to get acquainted again with your lovely significant other. She's always been one to think quick. And a rather talented kisser, not squeamish at all. We remember these things, us Quasi-Deads, you see. It tortures us, living in the wreckage of past experiences, no ability to forget. The troubles of carnality, I suppose. And you would be surprised" it lectures me knowingly "at the little perversities Necromongers indulge themselves with our lot. Why, you'd put most Breeders to shame!"

It pats me reassuringly on the shoulder, smearing blood and bits of flesh on my armor:

"However, it is only a common psycho-pathological downside of your sterilization. And it's not like we exactly _mind_ it. You know?"

"No, I don't." I grunt.

Extricating at least one of my legs is hard work and not going on a successful slope.

"No, I don't suppose you do."

It approaches me languidly and darts a slippery tongue out to feel the sweat off my cheeks.

"But you will." It drawls in the shell of my ear, biting off my earlobe. Now, that hurt, if my howling is any indication.

"The misery of your human soul we could care no less about. We have long chased it into shadowy corners with our powerful minds. When we are complete, as beings in our own right, when we have supplanted this verse with such unendurable sensations you will no longer be needed, perhaps you will find yourselves content as the plaything of greater illusions. Perhaps then all the fighting with your indomitable will to survive will finally come to an end. And you shall rest, man."

The bit of flesh is spurted back at me teasingly. I am thoroughly grossed. And somewhat pained. Tiny as it is, it is a part of me I will miss. So much I have lost in the name of the entire humanity that any further amputation, however minor, builds up a rage so blinding, I'm surprised I am even capable of it.

It's like some formidable beast, lurking in the depths of my soul, sheds its steely confinements and bites back to defend its wounded pride.

I am not Vaako.

I am not Necromomger.

I am all the possibilities of Vaako and all scathed Necromongers.

I am all those I've slain and they are all in me.

I am all passion, all fury, all rage.

I am all that _**Man**_ can be.

I. Simply. Am.

And it is a choice that I have made and that has not been made for me.

I am free.

Free of the necessities of life and the confinements of death.

I am Will that cannot be broken.

And for the first time, I am aware of all the wonders that I've unworthily inherited with my humanity.

All the million colors of the Universe ring before my eyes.

"**You **are the plaything of illusions. And you have made me the slave of the harsh reality you cannot comprehend." I spit out the words.

"But. No. More."

**No. More.**

My words echo throughout Alysum, the house of old deaths and old beliefs.

I turn away from the deformity in front of me that struggles with my rebellion and plan my way back, violently pulling free of now mangled tendrils of blood. There is shrieking and shrilling behind me, around me, but I pay no heed to it. My mind has – how did Riddick put it? – wised the fuck up. There is Life waiting for me, not in some remote dimension of the 'verse, but beyond the gate, down the stairs, through the marshes, up the ramp, into the ship and back home, to those I have left behind.

_My life is with the one I love__._

And all the power in the Universe cannot change that.

My feet are bleeding and my nerves are left raw. The darkness around me is darkening still. Something is wailing in broken anguish. It is not me. Something stirs from the depths of Alysum. It is frightening. Fear feels strange in my mind, but it helps by dwarfing the visceral pain of torn flesh and muscle.

Somewhere, some force is compelled to act. Somehow a balance is being restored. Someone is making a sacrifice of some sort. Again.

"Come on, Vaako, the plan was not to come here and die. Move it!"

Strong hands. Strong woman. Humanity's way of fighting back the violation of its laws on procreation. But…:

"Would you really die for me?"

Blood and spit and tangled hair muffle my words.

"No. But I would try for you." Curt and clear.

That answers _my_ question. She is not God Incarnate of my youth. Just a poster-girl for human idiosyncrasies.

As we carry ourselves out of the central chamber where invisible forces do battle, the idols close unseeing eyes one by one, until one undistinguished figure is all but left.

She'd never leave him though.

It's just that this time, he has to find his way back to her.

* * *

**P.S.: if you're interested in the history of the Necromongers and their faith, go check their wikipedia entry. I did. It gave me headaches:D Headaches do not help writing good chapters;)**


	26. Chapter 26 An Element of Adversity

**A/N: **

**A great big thanks for all those who read and review and keep doing so faithfully. A big smooch for HopeK who patiently supported me all through the hard work I had to put into this one. And now:….**

**I hate Kira. So much that I really don't care how it's written even though I'm anal with this sort of things. I probably hate this chapter more than I hate Kira. I had pretty much had the story figured out before I started on this dratted thing and still went through 3 different drafts in 3 different POVs, 3 six-packs of coke and an insanely amount of Bleach! before this came out. Yeah…so, if you will kindly please, please, PLEASE REVIEW ('cause I know you read it) even if you don't like it….or, especially if you don't like it! I'm not gonna bother you with this story for very long anyway:D **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own it! Any of it! You recognize it, it's yours! **

**WARNING: Dark themes ahead. You have been warned.**

It never occurred to me that I might be dead. Dead to the world Riddick came from. With O'dley, everything is so much alive, so much more vivid. Like I could bite out of my sensations and double the intensity of what I felt. Most of which was anger. It was…rewarding.

When I first came here, to this place they call Alysum, I used to look at the stern faces of the idol-gods and be reminded of guards and magistrates and the thundering of the hammer of justice coming down to sentence me to a life of imprisonment on Crematoria. It sucked. So I took to hammering them in return till every bone in my hand cracked. Then I smeared the filth – blood and bone and broken flesh – on their cold shiny faces and pretended I still felt pain when I felt nothing. Nothing at all.

Then my hands turned small and scrawny and sleazy and I had to share a scrap of a body with all these other people I hated beyond reason. I hated it that, small and insignificant as they were, weak and loathsome, they still reared their ugly heads to throw their two creds worth of shit into the mix. Always the whining and the heartbreak and all that. And all this under the incriminating stare of steel orbs.

So, I hurt myself. I hurt _ourself._ I desecrated the body we all shared, just because they ganged up on me in our head. At least this way, I'd get an upper hand. First there was the beating, then the cutting and then the draining of blood. It didn't gush as profusely as I was used too. I figured that being so many of us it took quite a few gallons to sustain us. But that didn't do the trick. They were even louder in their agony. I tell you, Jack could scream like a motherfucker. Or was it the little brat? I can't remember, it's all jumbled up in my brain, right next to the whisperer, that O'dley creature. At least she always sided up with me. She was a _she_ to me. A wild cat that one…had some crazy ass ideas. Wouldn't you know it, I was impaling a spear right through my –_our_ – vagina, cold and insulting, like every other dick I had in me. Though I did get a little angry at O'dley for that one, she said those bitches had it coming for them. A taste of real pain. 'Cause pain is in the brain, not in my cut up loins. We suffered collectively. As O'dley's will guided my hand to trash the spear in and out of our small nether regions, as our body twisted and writhed and the spear's tip erupted right through our belly like a fountain of sharp needles, our father, our captors, our fellow Necromongers, all of them had their nasty ways with us all over again.

And I liked it, God dammit, I liked fucking them all with one roll of the hips and a flick of a wrist. It was as if I was eating them whole as they trashed in my body, rubbing their dingy puss infested cocks, their flaccid meat and their stiff organs against my inner walls, but this time around, I devoured them, cut them up, like animals caught in steel traps. Snap. Snap. And I basked in the afterglow of their demise. Their utter spent-ness. I felt oddly exhilarated. With every dark thought I conjured up in my aliases, with every sick fantasy I felt myself enthralled in, I could feel power surging through my veins, like wisps of white lightning, coursing through the molded flesh of a tougher, older, sinful version of Kira. What years of looking up to Mister I-Ain't-Nobody Riddick and trying to imitate his fucking con ass had failed to do, O'dley had managed to give me in the blink of an eye. Time is of no relevance here. And my morals and ethic have gone down the drain the moment I signed with mercs. Deeply symbolic that was, if you ask me. Like I signed off my soul or something. O'dley whispered something about the Disgraced Children of the Sun, how I was one of many to tumble down that path, little boys and girls born to a world of promise only to have their failure shoved in their faces – or deeper up their ass. Oh, I know all about being on the dark side of the sun. It gets old after a while. And you know why?

Because destiny has a funny way of biting you smack in the bottom. That, when it's not busy making you hit the fucking bottom. And there was no one there to catch my fall. Just some sharp iron bar sticking out of the wall. Deeply symbolic, I tell you, my whole life is like that. But, the thing is, I might be dead. Right now, I mean. And that complicates things. What do the dead wish for? To come back would bring me too close to Riddick, too close to being weak, always tucked in the shadow of the Great Man himself, chocking on the dust he leaves behind when he flies away from commitment when all I wanna do is latch onto his neck like a shit-load of my weight in confederate credits. He still has thoughts of Jack on the brain, Kira is just some colossal disappointment that signed with mercs. A rusty fake-badge sweating the smell of a thousand men.

So, what do the dead wish for?

"Why, m'dear, they wish for revenge!"

And so O'dley makes her presence noticed. I thought I was alone there for a while, the inmate taking control of the asylum sorta thing. But her voice just pops up in my head like it fucking belongs there, with that sweetly sick intonation to it that makes me think of how the meat of some animals tastes after it gets infested with big bellied maggots. Something I picked up from the Guv when I went to find alternative food supplies in the dungeons if Crematoria. I nearly died with the bitterness of un-properly rotting meat stuck in my throat. That's what O'dley is like. A touch of sweet vermin like droppings in a pool of dejected bitterness.

"M'dear, darling girl, how could you have forgotten? He skiffed off in the dead of the night, didn't even stick around for breakfast and left you to your own devices for five long years. And he still had the gall to claim that was a good idea! Really, now, what were you supposed to do? What gives him the right to blame you? You do remember he did, right? Blamed you and threw you away like yesterday's trash. And to top it all, he got you killed! Killed! I mean, now, really, dear darling, how hard could it be to kill a guy who's already half-dead? Maybe…maybe – and I ain't saying this just to upset you – maybe he's not so hot as you thought. Think of all those people he couldn't save…Shazza – and you used to _like_ her – and the boys and even…even the Holy Man! And let's not even go to the Unmentionable…why, I'd hide away in shame if my bad-ass – well, ass – was saved by a bitch-slip of a woman not even half my size. And he did, didn't he? He froze his dick off on some backwater planet like the scum trash that he truly is. At heart. But not like us, no, darling. Never like us. We'd have taken those fuckers after us full on and leave a trail of bloodied corpses on our wake. We'd never hide. We took our weakness and we taught it how to kill shit. Plucked out like the undeserving bitch weed that it was. We made the world our enemy. So what do you say, pretty Kira, we finish the game off? Hmmm? Show them once and for all who's the better killer?" For all her loud-ass talking, O'dley sure makes some strong points.

It rained. Mostly on me, through the opening in the high-ceiling. The yellow moon cast an eerie brush of light that brought back the memory of a dark place, not cold, but warm with the stench of death. A place of slaves, where a soon-to-be-dead baby – can't remember, never knew – boy or girl fed on the stale milk its expired whore of a mother dripped, dripped, dripped like the raindrops now twinkling in the dark waters. No one had paid for their deaths. No one had paid for my misfortunes. No one had even cared for anything other than their own stupid wounded pride. And even if for a moment I perhaps hoped, maybe imagined, that he would come back to rescue me once more, I now realize that even if he did, even if he's standing right here, demanding, imposing, commanding with that my-way-or-the highway-to-an-excruciating-pitiful-death attitude of his that I cease my antics like I'm some snotty brat he can order around like it fucks him right, I now finally know that he did not come here for me. He came here for himself and to stave off the guilt he has no tolerance for. 'Cause he's so fucking anal about that shit. Riddick doesn't do remorse. Not really. I don't even have to look at him to know that.

Well, that's too fucking bad for him. I stretched from my position amidst the pooling waters, I grew and morphed into the lean body of the woman-killer that I was. The time for envy and admiration is sleeping the sleep of death. Which, of course, he promptly senses and bristles that high-uppity of his. Like his anger is more righteous than mine, just because my incompetence is more visible than his.

"So, tell me, kid, what's it gonna be? Playing it cool as a cucumber or sour like a pickle?"

"I was thinking something more in the lines of dark and indecent."

Man, does it feel good to have height back in perspective. To have a body with endowments the likes of Jack never possessed. It made me feel all more the conqueror, as if I'd gained something completely foreign to my nature. The looks of a woman, not just the scent. My more than obvious leering earned an honest to God growl out of Riddick. Only God was out of the house. He was out of the friggin' galaxy.

"I see you appreciate the improvement. Good. I figured you'd get it stiff for the bodily drained only. Figured it a long time ago."

"Which is neither here, nor there…_Kira._"

"Nope. Just the two of us. And hell all around."

"Careful, there, kid, don't wanna wake up the devil with all the loudmouthin'…"

"Afraid the Horny One would came rushing to collect the bounty on your ass?" I shot right back at him.

That made him laugh. Hard and derogatory. Heck, I can't even spell the word in my mind to describe the utter non-amusing cackle that jumped fence and scrammed out of his vocal cords.

"Me. Afraid?! Girl, the only thing he's got for me is a medal for stocking up the fucker's ranks. Don't come at me with shitty wiseass cracks, kid! You may be cute, but you ain't that cute! You wanna prove something, stop bitchin' and start fightin'! I ain't got all _**life**_ to waste with _**you**_! "

"Mother. Fu…!"

I feel it in the air growing dense around me with every word that comes out rumbled out of his mouth. I feel the acid drop of failure and self-loathing burning a hole down my throat. Rage. All recklessness and sadism, all fight and turmoil, every ounce of resentment I have for the world in general and for Riddick in its most highlighted detail, all of it went off like fireworks in one obsessive and consuming need to obliterate even the mere memory of the man. For a moment that stretched into infinity, it seemed like the foundations of the Universe shook and the world cracked violently when all the energy we could muster from the dark thoughts and the dark deeds and the dark souls of the ever dwindling realities of men fired up at Riddick.

Only to be repelled in that same instant by a force of equal, if not greater power.

I did not see colliding stars. Or setting suns. Just the fading light of first born sons condemned to the Deep Dark. Brightly orange their light sputtered and their ghostly yellow flicker tinged with streaks of dark purple went off. And, then, real sudden-like everything went pitch black.

"_All the powers in this Universe cannot stop destiny. _"

"I'm not from this Universe, bitch!" I hear my voice screech vilely at the offending woman-voice that had me in a vice grip with my head smashed flat against the slippery wet floor. The parting waters boiled lazily with smoke coming out of dissolving bubbles. The fumes were intoxicating.

"_Well, now, neither am I! Not anymore! Thus I command you to leave this body to its own life!"_

Hands were clawing at the invisible force. Dirty, bloody hands with the flesh chucked out from the fingers.

"I will purge this 'verse and make it my own! Like. This. Body!"

"_You shall not pass! Never death over life! Never!"_

The wailing is so loud it burst my neck open. There should be pain. There's blood. Lots of it, on my hands and in my mouth, so that I can't speak, just make beaten animal noises and wriggle in the clutches of the blue flare that has us pinned down. It seeps into my – _our_ – body and jolts our veins awake. What do the dead wish for me?

There is darkness living deep in my soul that erupts with a violent gush and tries to reclaim my body from the forces at war: the shaded light of Kira who was still afraid of people sneaking on her in the dark because no one would shine her eyes even for 20 Menthol Kools.

I gag uncontrollably on the blood in my mouth but just as soon realize I am chocking on it because someone has masterfully impaired my windpipe as another flow of bodily fluids was about to rush through my lips.

"This is not your body! This is not _you_! You wanna shit over to the motherfucker that I am for messing you up for no spectacular reason in the future, leave this piece-a'shit corpse and live to be stronger! Fuck this Kira! You're better than that, Jack, but you better be it faster, because I ain't above beating this head in my hands into its own pucking blood! All over again!"

There was something stirring in the utter blackness surrounding me. Twin flames that danced around in intricate patterns. As if they were weaving a web of tangled life lines. Mine, gray-green, and triple threaded and knotted tight, a roaring blue one growing thinner and thinner till it vanished entirely – Mister Johns, the blue eyed devil – and a resilient golden one – the one for which he was sorry he couldn't see colors anymore. And in the corner of my eye, I could see a warm brown thread, throbbing gently in the background and yet, supportive of the whole masterpiece – people and names and faces he never forgot, but chose not to remember too much. For these were Riddick's eyes, and behind the predatory glint, was the man himself, set out to reclaim the right to rule over his own life and the lives of those forever intertwined with his. Which he did.

Though he still had his strong mankiller hands wrapped around my throat, effectively chocking the vitals out of me, I spoke clearly and fluidly and in a voice I could probably say it was once my own:

"That's not a very badass thing to do…hitting a girl, I mean."

"Don't you dare start this with me, Jack, don't fucking you dare. I didn't come all the way out here to have you fucking with me. Not gonna happen."

"Then let go…"

I pleaded, but he wouldn't budge. His eyes were hard with mistrust. And something akin to fear. Of failure. Of a repeat of history. At least, that's one thing we have in common.

"It's okay to let go now, Riddick. It was probably okay to let go then too, you know. All the power in the universe cannot change destiny and all that load of bull. But I'll find my way back to you, I will, 'cause I've always been and I'll always be with you. And then we can sort this shit out. So maybe it's okay to choose death over life. Just this once."

I know part of me, the most alien part of me, was shrieking and kicking and clawing at his arms till it drew blood, wriggling under his crushing weight. But I was calm, willing him to admit it, that it was me doing all the talking. And whoever _me_ was, I would have to find out on my own. In another life.

"I finally figured it out…what the dead wish for…they wish for the happiness of those who are still alive…"

He looked at me funny, Riddick did, and said with such gentleness I thought I truly must be a talking ghost:

"Then…Good Night…"

Yeah, can't leave without saying…_that_.

He let go with one hand and I could hear the tell tale swish of the blade. You know, deeply symbolic and all that.

Cut me up and use me as bait.

So, I guess it's true about not changing destiny.

All the powers in the Universe found that out the hard way when Riddick shived the sweet spot and my soul tumbled down a deep, dark corridor to a place where I could start all over again, taking on one element of adversity at a time.


	27. Chapter 27 Time To Say Hello

**A/N:**

**To Cssndr23: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the kind review! You were one of my first reviewers in more ways than one******

**To HopeK: ummm….aren't you happy I updated? :D**

**To the lil' hobbit: U + I R LOVE******

**To Ellie: ah, a fellow "hater"…funny, I like Jack well enough, though!**

**To Herascat: welcome, welcome, I'm so glad you liked it! Please, feel free to review again******

**Surprise! Yes, dear Hope, I know I should be out writing for my thesis, but inspiration hits at the most awkward of times******** Now, this chapter…kinda requires you to know a little about Predator hunting techniques, like…erm…skinning… Come on, people, it was a movie with Schwarzenegger! Well, in case you don't know, I hope my descriptive abilities were good enough! And now…enjoy?!....(and don't forget to review, I know you read it!!!!)**

**WARNING: blood and gore and lots of it!**

**REMINDER: D'Jai Lya and Garreth are Carolyn's officers on the Kumary.**

At one point in the general timeline of things, Garreth and I got a little…err…dissatisfied with our preoccupation which could be, basically, reduced to peering at nothing. Nothing as in no-thing-on-the-radar-worth-mentioning. Necros were playing nice. Hence, we decided to return the favor and introduce ourselves. It was time to say hello. Do you know how wraiths say hi?

No, you don't. Would, if you'd live that long. But you won't. Let us exemplify.

We got on the Necro mothership much like the Captain did. We just weren't all that careful not to get caught. No point in doing that if you're looking for a fight. And you're guessing correctly if the first thing that crossed your mind at this point is that there was no actual foe to be fought just yet. That was one helluva huge ass place crusading through the stars we got on and short of stomping on the floors and banging on the walls no one would really notice us. Needless to say, we don't like being ignored. That's like, rude, ya know? I forgot, you really don't. So, Garreth and I – yet again – decided people must die. Just to get the message across.

First, there were a couple of bespectacled heat-seekers. Knife went through them like through chocolate pudding. Ok, maybe not so much.

Porridge.

Yeah, that's more like it. Knife went through like through…porridge. The bad kind. The one you can't describe, cause you've never had any. But it sounds about right. No offence to chocolate. Or pudding.

Bottom line, we had ourselves a couple of those. Quite a few couples actually, and placed them strategically on the way. We're artistic like that. And all the while Garreth was telling me some lame-assed story about breadcrumbs and kiddies going to the witch's lair which was made of sweet things. Hence the food reference.

Then, there were some foot soldiers that stumbled upon our little bout of redecorating. We brought out the toys as a small gesture of appreciation. I actually thought that small metal darts fired at high velocity at one's face complimented one's attire. They seemed like the type to be into piercing, that's all. I'm a woman, after all, I tend to notice these things. Garreth, on the other hand, seemed to be into fish nets. The corrosive type. Ah, well, whatever slicks his dick.

After that was all set and done, we felt we should congratulate ourselves on a job well done and get some souvenirs. I went for a nicely polished skull – and took my damn sweet time with it – while the ever-so-into-alien-cultural traits Garreth chose a minutely braided scalp. And just so we didn't feel bad about staking the claim so early in the battle, we dutifully proceeded on inspecting the Necro fire power. Our results were inconclusive. I scoffed, Garreth snorted. So, time for next tactic.

Skinning.

It's the one when skin deprived corpses jump at you from the ceiling. Damn high ceilings, though. But we had developed quite the method: the body jumps, you screech in agonizing horror and stumble backwards into the strategically posed, yet invisible, nooses that will spare your vocal cords the abuse. It's fun to see how many actually fall for that one. I, of course, have the highest count. Garreth hates that.

"I intensely dislike it."

Whatever. Potato/poh-tah-toh situation, if you ask me. To this day, it still irks his ass.

Back at the situation at hand.

Oh, but did they scream, all right. Music to my ears.

There's nothing quite like the power of hysteria in masses. There were a couple of women – skinheads, sweet irony – and one of them lost half her face when the other one pushed her aside in her hurry to get away, so she kinda missed the loop and got skewered by the tangled wires. Her friend, that we did get. Nice, clean decapitation. I mentally congratulated myself. These Necros, they do wonders for a Hunter's pride.

The armed forces followed suit to witness the carnage. Well, it was nothing a well aimed _Shuriken_ couldn't handle. Limbs went flying everywhere (hey, I'm not stupid, I know an armor is weakest at the joints), but we did have to be careful not to trip on our own trap.

The alarms – finally! God dammit! – started all over the place, fail-safes were activated everywhere on the ship, captains gave orders, soldiers obeyed and thunked their massive boots in marching disorder. We just settled for a leisurely stroll down the shadowed pathways so as not to be trampled by the onslaught of raging, roaring – _running_ – Necromongers.

I, for one, felt combatitive. I wanted to try out one of these warriors. To see if there was something to them besides the urge to cull the universe of life. My blood was boiling with the lust for battle. Wanted to taste despair on the tip of my blade. A no-joke tryst.

"Now, if you were a blood thirsty Necromonger with reasonable fighting skills I'd like to take on, where would you be?"

Garreth looked at me like I was suddenly dropping IQ points I did not possess.

"At the receiving end of Riddick's blade." he shrugged nonchalantly.

Oh.

Right.

Well, then, sucks to be the very next guy I come across.

_Commander Toal._

Hellooooooo, Darkie!

Come meet my maul! It's long and barbed and arrowed!

He sensed my presence long before I switched off the cloak. He staggered a little, just enough for me to get a whiff of sweat trickling underneath that heavy metal coat of his, but regained composure and got into fighting stance with a retrofitted rifle-blade held securely in his hand. Those things shoot blasts strong enough to blow a hole straight to a planet's core, but they're a bitch to recharge. That's where the nifty blade comes handy if you're quick on your feet. Or a lousy shot, like Toal. His aim took out five decks – at least – but no intruder. I parried the incoming blow with my mauled right hand and went for a quickie with my left blade, but he sidestepped and adjusted to my speed.

"Clever, little Eta!"

He grunted in response and tried to get me in firing range again, only to find the tip of my maul firmly lodged in the opening between rifle and blade. I scrunched my hand in an upward motion and took the nozzle of his weapon right off. The debris hit him square in the upper side of his face, leaving a gashing wound open, right above his right eye, even as he tried to duck it out. I sprinted away and barred the maul in front of me like a shield. That kind of laceration bleeds like a motherfucker.

Vision – impaired.

Chances of survival – ummm…none!

But to his credit, Commander Toal regained his momentum and switched hands.

Apparently Commander Toal was not one to miss on half the fun.

My lips went dry in anticipation.

Now, if ya'all just pay attention to me, I'll show how to properly handle a one-on-on fight with the aid of a maul.

It's a heavy flippin' weapon and most peeps are wary of actually using it in combat. But that's just because they're pansy-assed wankers who don't know any better. Either that or they have arms made of butter on a hot desert planet. The first thing you gotta do – which isn't so hard really – is you gotta train your opponent's eyes on the darn thing. Cause that's what he'll go for. Because he's stupid like that or because he's smart like that and wants to tire you out. Then, ever so subtlely, distract his attention with the prerequisite wrist blades on your left arm to make some sort of dual wielding blade. He'll either fall for it or not, doesn't really matter. By this time, he'll be entirely focused on the searing tips of your blades, intently searching for an opening. If you're lucky, you'll probably get him to do some fancy footwork. You just keep dodging hits, but strain that left hand more, in order to give the impression that you're – in fact – trying to nurse your mauled arm – which you are, but he doesn't need to know that. He'll expect the blow, the final right to left movement of your arm that brings up the maul like a barrier between the two of you. It'd be real cool if he'd parry it. 'Cause then you'd have the undeniable pleasure of looking him in the eye as the curved end of the blade – the length of which he was unable to properly estimate - impales itself in a) the side of his throat, b) in his ear and straight through his skull or if you time it like really well c) through his temple in a backwards motion. That last one is my favorite. For a moment, you can see the steely blade shine in his eyes. Literally.

Toal fell to the ground with a thud and a clinking of metal.

The world was quiet. And then it was on fire.

"Quickly, to the crypts. Lou'An's ships are attacking!"

Aw, fuck! Men are such fucking spoilsports!

I took my leave of the dead Necro Commander, who had had at least one small triumph over me.

"You sorry shit!" I muttered as I trailed behind Garreth, all angry and put upon.

"What's the pout for? That was a good fight!"

"From which I walked away without My. Fucking. Trophy!"

I was reduced to the level of a ranting overindulged child.

Fuck, was I pissed on this stupid ship! Which was now shaking under the thunderous blasts of the _Trinian_.

"You think he could like _fucking_ tone it down a bit! Captain's gonna hang him by the balls if he blows _the body_ apart before she gets back here."

"If only _she _would…"

I snorted before the vaulted doors of the crypt. Captain would definitely come back. She's in the come-backing business, after all. But as far as the child lying behind those doors was concerned, that was an entirely different flying fuck all together.

In the meantime, Garreth was feeling for the opening mechanism. Which was dumb.

I grabbed him by the back of his collar and yanked him away:

"Stand back!"

One plasma bolt and the doors were wide open. So were parts of the walls.

I turned a cocky grin to the Chief:

"Only fools pick locks. True geniuses use the key!"

He fired at me like flees out of a wet dog.

"What the fuck key was that?! You freakin' took out the entire freakin' room, you idiot!"

Swat!

Pain. Throbbing. In. Head.

In the middle of my wincing-in-pain episode, someone coughed and wailed in the residue smoke, snapping both me and the Chief with the Hand from Hell back to attention. It was a woman, tall and somewhat lanky, with ashen hair twisted in a complicated braid, who was resting against the single crypt in the derelict chamber. She straightened to face us with a determined scowl on her kitten-like face.

"Huh?"

She stuttered to say something, failed, cleared her voice and started again:

"You will not have her! You'll have to get by me first!"

Despite her cutely shaped features, her voice had a virile quality to it and if it were anyone else but us, they'd be a little shaken by her vehemence.

"Relax, Kitty-Cat. We're not here to hurt you!" Garreth said in his most soothing voice. I think it's called lying through your teeth.

"We're not?"

Swat! Ouch!

"Hey!"

Kitty-Cat looked confused, but her resolve did not falter. She clutched the crypt ever so tightly and set her body bravely against us.

"Look, sunshine, we want what you want. To take that cryo-cript outta here before we're all blown to tiny particles of…"

I turned to Garreth,

"…I can't think of a proper analogy here!"

I got the _Stare_ for all my efforts. I retaliated with my patented Chief-you-are-an-asshole grunt and turned to our interlocutor.

"The point is."

I took out the gauntlet – aka the big honkin' gun - and pointed it at her.

"Move or die, sweet thing, the choice is yours."

"You won't risk damaging the crypt!" she sorta squealed that one out.

My arm did not flinch an inch.

"This is my caring face."

"You won't have to leave it out of your sight. We'll take you somewhere safe and away from this ship. You know it. This ship is doomed. Dying will not get you any closer to Riddick."

Oh, Garreth. Such a good cop.

"What do you know of the Lord Marshall? Speak!"

Her coolness just got up a notch.

"I know he told you to watch after Jack."

Blue eyes just turned into clear puddles of awe at Garreth's utterance of the child's name. Her true name, that Riddick, being the slick fuck that he is, had intimated to the tall blondino lady. That guy…can you say blonde-fetish?

"H-how d-did…"

"How did I know? I'll tell you all about that if you just come with us. Even if you don't believe me, Riddick is enough of a wanted man to guarantee our run-in with him. I'm not as stupid as to jeopardize my shoe-in tickets to a personal encounter. And you know – _you know_ – you have my Hunter's word on that. Now, isn't that right, _Gwendolen_?"

She was mesmerized by Garreth's no bullshit tone. And her name there in the end shook her world and her resolve. Despite the fear twisting her insides – so obvious, I could hear it, and I was pretty dense on these matters – she looked almost royal when she said next:

"I will go with you. And you will take us to Riddick."

"Done. Let's go." My arm was starting to go numb.

I bolted for the crypt only to have a pissed off Gwen almost ripping my arm off.

"Hands off!"

"Easy, Kitty-Cat! That thing's way too heavy to carry it outta here. We'll take the body on a stretcher, go cloak-visible and scram away from this place. And you're coming right along with us. I made you a promise."

"I also made a promise. And I intend to keep it."

That being said, she gingerly opened the crypt and looked at the sleeping girl. The kid wasn't exactly rosy fresh, but she didn't reek of death either. Then, the tall woman picked her up with utmost care and placed her tenderly on the stretcher we had prepared for her. After strapping the body securely, Garreth pushed the button and the energy field that masked her presence kicked in. Kitty-Cat visibly shuddered.

"How will I follow you?"

With a quick snap I cuffed blondie to the bar of the stretcher and grinned:

"And now you run as fast as your long legs can carry you!"

Cloak on, we took off in a sprint down the long halls of Necropolis.

We fell, we got up.

We dodged screaming Necromongers.

We passed unnoticed by soldiers running for the hangars.

We stopped in front of massively closed doors.

"Security protocols…" a panting Gwendolen informed us. "We can cut through the throne room to get to the other side of Necropolis. And then to your ship."

"Go!"

Garreth was right to choose that particular landing site to attach the modified _Neruda._ It was low enough not to get too damaged in the initial round of fire should Lou'An get a lil' trigger-happy – which he inevitably did, that son of a cock sucking bitch! He's a territorial motherfucker, that one sure is!

We reached the throne room with a few scraps and bruises and Kitty-Cat's shoulder most likely dislocated. She must have looked like a possessed waif of a creature running disjointedly around Necropolis. At one point, she bumped in – hard – with a young man she recognized. He shoved her aside and ran without looking back when an explosion hit the adjacent wall and nearly took us out. She just scrambled herself up and never looked back. One thing I gotta hand to these Necro fellas: their a truly faithful lot.

I'm snarling, can you tell?

We were close now. Cross the room, down the corridor and back in the _Neruda_ and we're home and dry on the _Kumary_.

But things never come that easy.

Just as we were about to cross, a gun blasted smack in our faces and it was a small miracle we made it in one piece. But the cloak was toast. We tumbled to the ground, the stretcher clattering loudly in the large chamber and Jack's body doing a little movement due to the impact of gravity. Cause that was not a breath I saw with my fogged up vision.

"Bitch! Treacherous, leering cunt! **Where**?! Where do you think you're going?!"

It was a woman, a disheveled, bloody woman, with a tight, battered dress and long tendrils of dark hair snaking away from what must have been a perfectly coiffured scalp to frame an equally perfect and dark face. Although a somewhat bruised one at that.

"**You!** You have brought this upon us! Conspiring with the enemy! Trying to take power away from me!"

She hissed at the kneeling Gwendolen, waving the gun in her general direction, cursing in tongues she half-remembered.

"What did you do with him? You took him away! You took Vaako away!"

"You are mad."

Kitty-Cat was so serene in her defeated state, looking up at the enraged woman who swayed in the aftermath of yet another explosion.

"You had to have it all! And you thought…**you thought**…you could get away! **You die**! You die now!"

But she didn't get to execute her threat. Garreth aimed for her feet and she stumbled and fell, hitting the floor hard.

She recovered swiftly and lunged blindly for the man obstructing her way to the object of her revenge. Chief knocked her a good one to the jaw and I swear I saw some bone protruding her flawless skin, but she swirled around and drew a disk blade seemingly out of nowhere – strapped to the back, friendly wager anyone? – and made to cut his throat. Garreth skillfully avoided the blow and almost did a back flip over the stretcher, before finally managing to righten himself up again.

"Rotten breeder!"

But it didn't come out right what with the bones in her face all askew. Her movements lost all their previous precision and her body would have collapsed yet again were it not for Garreth's hand catching her in mid fall. Now, she was draped over his left arm, so she could not see the bladed hand descend on her back.

But Gwendolen did. She saw it with crystal blue eyes as bone was finally separated from flesh and Dame Vaako's face fell like a worn out piece of cloth.

Garreth had gotten his trophy.


	28. Chapter 28 Know the stars

**To Ellie: Glad you liked it and are still R&R-ing! Cookies for you:D**

**To HopeK: you already know how much I love you!**

**To Hobitzik: when the wise master hobbit demands, I can only comply;)**

**And to Saismaat: welcome and I hope you enjoy! Your detailed reviews are always a pleasure to read and help me figure out what I'm doing wrong:D**

**A/N: well…hi! This chapter is an experimental one, you could say. I wanted to write it in Aereon's POV, but couldn't figure out how to do that without having her being in two places at once. So I did some research and ended up doing some speculation. Here's something of what I found:**

_**Quintessa**_** is the Elemental home-planet**

_**The Everstean Computers **_**are Elemental designed computers (d'oh!) that continuously process information used in calculating the Cosmic Balance.**

_**The Avatar**_** is something I only saw once, so I'm not sure what it's supposed to be canon-wise. Story-wise it is a complex duplicate. Read more to find out.**

**Enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own it. I'm just twisting it beyond recognition. **

When the first colonists stumbled head on into what would be forever known thereafter as the Helion Nebula, legend claims they fell to their knees in awe of God's magnificent creation. The light shined upon them as they passed the Pillars of Creation into the little hidden corner of the Universe where five planets, all of a sparkling blue, orbited around a generous burning star, they started calling Abner: _My father is Light and Light has guided my feet to this place of hidden majesty_. But it was not to be. The people of many faiths would have it not named by one religion alone. The mismatched fleet of colonists disbanded and each sought home on the orbiting bodies. It was only later, much later, the representatives of the now colonized planets congregated and settled that their new home should be named Helion, in honor of older man-made gods and older man-weaved legends. God gives but does not impose. The Helion colonies were man-made worlds, harsh in their beauty and melancholy in their conquest.

But that was many cycles ago, as many as an age of the Universe and gone faster than that. The stories held fast though, little beacons of light in the everlasting darkness that has fallen upon the many races of man. It is among our duties to remember them. For only the observant may find some leeway in unlocking the future. And Elementals are many things, the least of which is observant. The quest for Balance – the ever powerful force that keeps an unruly Universe in check – has lead my steps to Helion before, that world which was spared the mark of death. This one, humbly known as Aereon, does not believe in coincidence. Patterns seek each other relentlessly and only the brave…only the observant…only the focused will see this plan to completion.

_I bravely stared in the face of the void, of the deep nothingness from which sprung all life and witnessed the forging of destiny before my eyes. For one who has forsaken one's own destiny in awe of the Grand Design and the power to be one of its Makers, such feat could only bring forth tears of twirling winds. I wept. And saw with such painful clarity the path that was laid before me, but had been obstructed by visions of Abstract Aesthetics. _

_Know the stars._

_Follow the stars._

_For within them lies your destiny._

_And from these deep transient reveries I partook in, a resolution was formulated. I had to return to Helion Nebula, once known as the Home of Abner, Son of Light. Where those bound to the Underverse voyaged, I could not travel. The shimmering fabric of that reality is too frail to sustain one such as myself. But Death is not the End, not even for the soulless. We all beings that walk the heavens leave a mark, a residue in the cosmic shape of things, an input used by the Everstean Computers to process the protean permutations involved in calculating Balance. All the knowledge I have gathered in my quest is transformed into a singular algorithm that is passed on to my Avatar. It is an Elemental's most guarded secret, this creature of artificial design. A child, spawn from the trials and tribulations of an intellect honed by millennia of pursuing the continuum of man. It is the mark of our godliness. To her I entrust this mission: the worlds of man must be prepared to face those who will have returned from chaos. _

_To her, the humbly known as Aereon._

For the vast open spaces of Helion Prime, it is indeed quite a stuffy and suffocating place, with narrow streets and an abundance of ornamentation in which the eye is lost and the train of thought is derailed. It bears down upon one's shoulders, with a mightiness born out of a mélange of cultures and faiths, all encompassed into an ever-bright civilization. It is a mere carcass now, a place for lingering ghosts and wide eyed children who will bear the sorrows of a world tethering on the brink of oblivion. The light is cruel on this planet now. It is far too revealing to those who wish to forget. Or pretend. There are men of once great wealth – as their brightly woven clothes, now offsetting perversely the dull shimmer of crusty wounds, show – slumped down on the barren streets, their lips incessantly in motion, but no words come out. To what type of being are their prayers becoming audible? They do not even bother with covering their heads, as many seem to do, for fear of scavengers that every catastrophe brings out in the hearts of men. They do not flinch as disbanded patrols lurk around, as if performing a routine would bring back meaning to their existence. Disjointed calculations and scattered numbers litter this place of mourning. For it is neither dead as other planets in the galaxy, nor alive as the fearful few who remained unscorched in the shadows of the universe.

But in the bleakness of this forsaken world, things begin to stir. Some days bring ships in the sky and the people flee in their hideouts, like so many jeweled reptiles. The ships never linger long. There are other planets, far more scathed than the apathetic Helion Prime. The time to act is now, while the Armada is away, beyond the realms of charted Federation space. Humans are far more practical than any other species in this 'verse. And a lot more innocent too. There are also other ships that come and forget to go. It is in one of these that my interest lies. But the docks are empty and the landing logs show no sign of it. This humble one has checked. Platforms and electronic scribbles have not yielded anything to the pleadings of a tattered looking old lady, searching for a sign of her missing children. The sympathy in the eyes of the wielders of technology speaks nothing to me. To the streets again I must take, observant of faces that do not match, to derivations of formulae that have long ago been calculated as true.

There is a balance to everything in the Universe. One pair of the scales has made itself – quite forcibly – known to the 'verse. Where the other pair might be found? Can it be compelled to act? These are the questions that the whole Universe now hinges on. Part of the answers has played out. Some are forged still. And some…some are left to this one, humbly known as Aereon, to fathom and bring forth along with a new dawn for the races of man. The mighty computers on Quintessa hum and process endlessly, cajoling variables into a sensible form that is being transmitted down to me, to aid me in my task. Nothing is ever lost, all is recalculated, every contingency planned. I possess the numbers, the formulae. It has been dictated before. But it is up to this humble one to elicit a demonstration and set forth a platform where the balance can be restored and the universe righted once more. The information was bequeathed upon me. I must somehow find a way to put it in action.

The shadows rattle and crack. Where a few moments ago there was nothing, now there are figures cloaked in darkness. Three of them I can make out. One, a rather bulky male walks silkily over the rubbled pavement. It's the other two that are making small noises as they move about. They all look like scavengers out for looting, but they pass open doors without a sideways glance. They survey balconies and seem to be looking for a specific design, but they are being rather unsuccessful. Evening has slowly crept in the Muslim District and every soul bound to this place has taken hidden refuge, but for the four of us. I am covered in rags and dust, my once glittering white garbs are now reduced to the most un-complementing shade of gray. I cannot mix with the wind, I am a most humble one. The swirling sand – swept from the desert far away, as there are no more climate regulators since the attack – and the fatigue this body inevitably feels under the weight of thought process and muscle straining are my best cover. My partners in the dark use their stealth skills and unrevealing cloaks to go unnoticed. I have been waiting for them, though. And now I know why I could not find them in the crumbling city. Even with the lax security around, they would not have risked staying here for long.

I watched them three nights on the row. They came at nightfall and swept the city, block by block. They returned to the Muslim District, the man covering large areas of it by himself, his companions never straying far from each other. These two intrigued me. One of them was female, lighter and more curious than the other, she entered derelict houses and marveled at broken pieces of furniture and utensils, like she had not seen such things in a long time. She was also the one who loitered around well into the sun-up, when her friends showed discomfort and beckoned to her to get a move on. But the most interesting thing of all was that she seemed utterly complementary to her male counterpart. They moved and breathed in sync, their actions mirroring one another. They were as a harmonious equation that spawns its own solution once two variables are combined.

They were twins.

On the third night I resolved to follow them after the twins failed to chase a little brown girl into her hideout. The woman-twin would have followed the child down the twisted path of the District, with its houses almost indistinct with their minute details, but the older male put an end to that and the trio headed for the desert. I estimated that was where they were hiding all along. But I could not trace their whereabouts unnoticed. So, I walked the sand plains of Helion Prime in the unforgivable daylight and sought to fall into their hands, rather than have them walk into mine. I was caught on the outskirts of the city, right pass the Lake of Tears, Helion Prime's main water source. They sprung from the sands and pointed laser guns at me. I raised my hands in surrender:

"This humble one means you no harm. Take me to your leader."

They snickered around me, till one of them, presumably the male-twin addressed me:

"Sheeh, lady, don't you know that line only works in the movies?"

"Then perhaps we are in one. And in this movie, the brave seeker shall send aid to his master so that his quest is hurriedly apprehended before the end of the world."

"You spin a fine tale, word-weaver! Watch your fall!"

I fell. And landed hard. But I am built to last. Once I got my bearings, I could discern I was in a ship of sorts, buried underneath the dunes. I had fallen through an open airlock that served as a trap door on the surface. There was an automatic hiss and a door opened to reveal the figure of the male leader.

"You're a sneaky little one, I'll give you that. I didn't think much of you until I saw you stalking us, which, let me tell you, is never a wise thing to do. We would have been finished yester night were it not for my concern about you and your intentions."

"I am but a humble one."

I straightened to my unimpressive height.

"You should not have stopped your friend on my account. Though the chances of her succeeding in her task were, and still are, low. They are quite stark if you further considered gaining information from a frightened little girl."

"You speak with conviction, woman. Are you a seer then?"

"Of sorts."

There was the telltale swish of a blade permeating the stillness of the chamber.

"Don't have much trust in those."

"I do not expect you do, Furyan…"

The blade was at my throat.

"I have less trust in you now…woman!"

The hiss was at my ear.

"This is the second time a Furyan threatens my life with a blade._ He _stayed his weapon to hear my words. Will you not do the same?"

The blade and his presence were removed from me. But he was standing, less threatening, though still dangerous, not two paces in front of me.

"Speak then. And I shall judge if the other was a fool. Because I am definitely not."

"We are all fools of fate."

"Some are even fools of faith."

"True. You begin to fathom what I truly am, right?"

In the dark, his eyes glowed eerily.

"Well, then, _whose thought are you?_"

"I am the one humbly known as Aereon."

He cackled mirthlessly at this.

"_You_ are presumed to be many things. Humble is not one of them."

"Like you said, I am someone's thought. And this time, it is the thought that matters. The rest is only residual variables."

"You are one fucked up race of people, if you refer to yourself as a "residual variable"!"

He made quotation marks in the air.

"And what do you refer to yourself as, spiritual warrior?"

He blinked noncommitantly.

"You are wasting precious moments of your time."

"So be it. What I am is not as important as what I have to tell you. You sought a Muslim child, daughter of Abu Imam al-Walid, dead in the attack on Helion Prime."

He flinched, quite noticeably.

"How do you know that?"

"The child carried a good luck charm on her. A talisman brought from the darkness. Does that mean something to you?"

"I know what darkness means." The man answered bleakly.

"You sought this man's family for information on their _unknown benefactor._ You need not bother them. The prophecy has been fulfilled. A son of Furya has overthroned the Lord Marshal of the Necromonger Faith and has already claimed his seat at the head of the Armada. He has crossed the Threshold into the Underverse from which he will emerge a changed man. But to what world will he have returned to? To what world?"

Emotions washed over him like waves on a rocky shore. Chinks may have been dislocated during the tumult, but the structure stood solid.

"To which world?" he murmured with his eyes downcast.

Then he turned his gaze upon me once more and went on with a steady rhythm to his commanding voice.

"You have not lied to me, _Elemental Envoy_…or whatever you are. We already had word of this and you have served well to confirm it. But what you do not know is that while the…_Lord Marshal_…has set on his voyage to the…_Underverse_… the Armada has been left vulnerable to a likely attack by alien forces. Or so our intel tell us."

"_Clash of wills…_" I whispered to the dark. Louder I only said:

"We…_I_...have glanced but a glimpse of this. There is an unknown variable at play that prohibits the final calculation from completion. Something very potent."

"Life is always an unknown variable. We have seers too, Envoy. We have plans of our own."

I was stunned into silence. There is a thick veil obstructing my vision of the Grand Calculus. For my perfect design, I am a limited being.

"You didn't calculate that, did you?"

The smirking Furyan circled around me once.

"You _can't_ calculate that, can you?"

His curiosity demanded answers.

"When humans start acting predictable, then my calculations will be 100% accurate. Until a time such as that, we will have to make do with what we have." I snapped at him in a rather undignified manner.

"Ah, yes, the fickle ways of the _human_ race. They surprise you when you least expect them to. Strange, though, that you should see that and still not be aware of its importance in the grand scheme of things. Did you know that of all races of man, humans were the least affected by this Necromonger plague? Entire civilizations have been wiped out, and still Sol-borns endure. Even here on Helion. Got to hand it to these Earthies: they have a winning set of survival instincts. It's so freaking surreal, you can't even call it the lucky draw of genetics. It's like they somehow reached into the primordial soup and traded common sense for fucking stamina. Weird."

"There is no coincidence, only patterns. Patterns seek each other in startling combinations."

"Well, it was one hell of a loosing combination on Furya!"

The rocks shake under the assault of relentless waves. There is a hard edge to his voice and a determined glint in his eyes.

"Ten thousand people survived the culling on Furya. Out of a population of six billion plus. Almost no children, save a few female issues and those old enough to put up a fight long enough to be rescued. Barely a respectable number of fighters escaped the conversion. And out of all these survivors, more than three quarters were of mixed descent. My people, Furyans, have been isolationist for hundreds of years. But even bordering the ever expanding Federation, one cannot survive as a thriving civilization without any sort of interaction. We traveled. We've met other races, other people. Free-settlers always take the back roads in their roaming. Furya's space port was never under-populated. And these outworld-ers, they left their genetic imprint, sure they did. And they survived. They survived when our own blood perished. There is a lesson to be learned there, Envoy."

The variables are beginning to make sense now. An equation is born.

"How many of you are still alive, now?"

"On this ship, no more than a hundred. The mothership numbers less than the original ten thousand. Many died because of their wounds, some from radiation sickness or other illnesses. Our supplies have never been overly abundant. More so in the first couple of years. Always in hiding, always on the run, keeping it down-low, so _they wouldn't know_. We never speak of hope. It has forsaken our cursed lot."

"And yet, here you are, in the wake of the Comet ship, searching for the one…"

"…the one who survived? We actually met once. On Aquila Major. He started a riot just so he could get away from us. What hope have we for the future, if we cannot settle our past?"

He sighed an aging sigh, though he was a man still in power.

"The Reluctant Warrior they called him. They have no idea to what lengths he'll go to suppress his inheritance. The least of which being him willingly give up a world seen in colors. He passes through his own life like a familiar house guest that can come and go as he so pleases. Nothing ties him down. Not love, not loyalty. And definitely not a mindless hoard of dark-eyed zombies."

Little does he know.

" Furyans, defiant till the end. And, still, you came to this place, to seek out one he had trust in. So there must be hope on your mind."

"Either that or we must think alike and both of us are manipulative bastards."

I closed my eyes for a second.

"True."

I opened them to his glowing orbs.

"Yet, you are not telling me everything. I don't have to be a seer to know that."

He considered my words carefully, I could tell by his slightly scowling face.

"There is no more that you need to know. The rest you can calculate for yourself. Let's just say that right now we are both interested in the continuum of man and that there is _one_ variable that can assure us of that."

"Fair enough. The risk to my wellbeing spikes too frequently to press you further."

"You've got some skills yourself, woman."

"You would be surprised…" I trailed silently.

The seriousness which had dictated his conduct so far relented in intensity and he willingly relinquished some dominance.

"So, Elemental Envoy, what do the Everstean Computers calculate should be our destination from now on, seeing that there is nothing left for us in the Helion Nebula?"

"Now, we track down the Armada and wait out the outcome."

"And if we get caught in the crossfire?"

"That is something for_ your _seers to calculate."

He cackled deviously and made a follow-me movement with his arm.

"Sometimes I think we should just leave the Universe to its fate…if it weren't so God-be-damned interesting to meddle."

I followed him.

_If the dead should speak to us, what would we answer back? Do we feel guilty because we are alive? Do we tell them we miss them? Would we welcome them back, even if there's a price to pay? _

_For the dead know very well._

_Never will they choose death over life. But sometimes, they can watch us try._

**A/N 2: The Italic marks the words of the real Aereon, the one who voyaged with Riddick and crew to the Underverse. I'm still thinking about getting her out of there or not. Now, don't forget to REVIEW!**


	29. Chapter 29 Homebound

**To Maria: Glad to have you back:D thought I lost you there for a while;)**

**To HopeK: I wouldn't want the suspense to kill you :)**

**A/N: SURPRISE! I iz sneaky! Well, not really, it's just that it will be a while before I'll be able to update, so I thought I'd be nice and give you two long chapters to enjoy. I hope. But, in return, I ask only that you REVIEW!!!! I think of you. Please, be considerate and think of me too. You're not gonna like it any better if you don't tell me what I do right and what I do wrong. Thank you. **

**DISCLAIMER: Still don't own it. Still messing with it, though.**

**WARNING: I just realized Fry has a really potty mouth. Really. Riddick is well spoken in comparison. Be advised.**

**Enjoy!**

Pain is good. Pain reminds me that I am alive. It follows that I should be worried right about now, when even with the added weight of Vaako's butchered body, I feel completely numb. The world around me is on liquid fire, with statues of old collapsing down upon us, one by one, as in a sick domino game. Perversely enough I feel their thump and the burning, lashing tongues of energy their fall stirs, scorching down my back, close enough to wound, not enough to stop us from running. And we run. Run till the skin feels torn from my throat and my chest heaves under the pressure. But we never get there, though we know the way.

"Fuck! I can see it! Fucking shit! Get there already!"

I hoist Vaako up, though he's not the one holding us back. Goddamn, I can fucking see the fuckin' ramp, for God's sake, it's right there! It's like we're fucking stuck in reverse.

"Pain..'s…only…real'f…you…believe…it…"

Now's not the time for Vaako's hoodoo holy shit.

"Shut the hell up and move!"

How the hell can I tell him there's no pain, when he's draped on me like a tone of bricks?

My legs feel heavy in their numbness, so much that I think Vaako is the one dragging us forward through the marshes, the deathland of all those we've killed.

"Believe it! Don't look back!"

There is barely any flesh left on his lower legs, yet he's grown taller and is now looking down on me. Or am I the one looking up at him? The world has turned upside down, somehow.

"Believe he is right behind us and move!"

I clench my fists and find they are grasping at blood and dirt and flowers. There is nothing more evil in this 'verse than rotten flowers. Their smell is pungent and oh, so sweet.

"Move! She is waiting! Move!"

What I am experiencing is a profound derangement of the senses. My body is refusing to move and my mind is making excuses for it. Because that is the only explanation I am willing to entertain as I see myself turning around and heading back into that fucking hell-hole.

"Woman! Come with me now!"

I glance over my shoulder on a sudden whim. Yup, sure enough, he's standing – more like crunching – there with his arm outstretched, beckoning to me. Clichéd, I know. But Vaako is so removed from humanity, he doesn't have it in him to be creative.

I take a moment to wonder at the easiness with which my actions occur. Finally, my body and mind function properly together. Get back there, get Riddick, run, run some more, fly outta here. Not get killed, must not forget that. Though both Riddick and Vaako can fly that ship, so that's not really a priority.

Dammit, Carolyn, focus here! We've been through this already! You could try some variety for a change!

I jump-climb a particularly large boulder-like structure, but gravity and a sudden tectonic movement serve to remind me Superwoman I am not. Hell, I'm not even Riddick-level at that. But climbing, that I can do rather fast. I jam a blade to pause my descent and put my muscles into hoisting myself up and over. I am nearly on the other side when someone hauls me up on the verge and grins in my face:

"Forgot something?"

I could hit him right now. Instead I bite my lip and think amidst this falling world that this is as much of Riddick as hell is ever gonna see. He's too much of a cocky badass motherfucker for the roaring fire pits scenerio.

"Just making sure you get to do something badass."

He looks back and I wish he'd lose the goggles miraculously still attached to his face just so I could read him better. There might be a touch of sadness involved in his shielded eyes.

"Let's hope I kill dead idiots so hard, they come back to life."

"I have no idea what you just said."

Fuck the cryptic bastard!

"But as sure as hell I ain't gonna stick around to find out. We're getting out of here now!"

He pushes me over the edge so fast it feels like I fell out of my body. But he yanks me up by my shoulder and I'm pieced back together again. Verbal skills kick in too.

"You fuck! What the fuck was that for?"

"For you! Now run like hell's on your ass!"

"It is!"

I hate it when he multi-tasks. Never met a man who could outrun a short range undercutter and smirk his arrogance back at me at the same fucking time. The pace he sets is faster than light, even with all the mush around. Heck, he barely touches that and he has some hefty pounds on me, while I'm straining not to slip in all the gore. Great! Now's definitely not the time to feel pain.

Not the burning in my lungs.

Not the pressure on my muscles.

Not the sting in my shoulder when he grabs my hand as the seconds between us translate in fast growing meters.

He did do that to me, after all. Bastard dislocated my shoulder.

We covered the rumbling ground faster than I did with Vaako. I wasn't entirely sure it was due to the superhuman speed Riddick was showing off. Wouldn't it be just grand that I couldn't get out because of my obsession with not leaving his ass behind? That would prove them – my ghostly Furyan visitors – right: _All the powers in the Universe cannot change destiny. _It would serve their purpose. I would serve their purpose. Because that is my tragedy, my destiny: I can not ever change anything in my life. And there is a price to pay when living this madness of mine.

So the choice is up to me. I can choose to bandage my pain in the dark and go around hunting the Game of the 'verse with the Preds. And it's a thing I could and would do. And I would live and long and need _him _in the pulsating pauses between my thoughts and count my days in so many beats of my heart I could spare for his sake. I have done this for five years.

Or, I could follow him. As simple as that.

Hell of a decision!

Meanwhile, the sky is dying above us. The fear that it will crush us is instinctual.

"Riddick, we gotta go now…"

"Hmm…"

"Wha…"

The ship is gone.

No shit, really?!

"Fuck me!"

Louder.

"Fuck. Me!"

I don't fucking believe this!

"Please tell me he didn't leave us here…"

I was just getting used to all this decision making shit.

But he can't hear me over the noise. Who knew a disintegrating world would cause such a racket? The noise is so loud it shuts itself out. An infinite nothingness is creeping over.

I squeeze his hand in aggravation. He gets the message: come on, Riddick, pull something out of your ass and let's jump this fence!

He doesn't get to do that, though. Vaako – the son of a cock-sucking whore! Okay, make that husband of the afore mentioned bitch – gets to save the day. The ship hovers above us with the landing ramp dangling a few feet off the ground. Riddick jumps and I play along with his momentum. There's a gurgling sound coming from underneath us, where a vortex is forming. I refuse to stare at the staring abyss.

We crawl ourselves to safety. We try to at least. One of us who is not build like a freaking gravity defying tank is pulling some serious Gs. Haven't these Necro fellas ever heard of G-force dampening systems? The fuck!

Riddick manages to get up, punch the button and yell at Vaako:

"Go!Go!Go!"

"Nonono…Fuck! My legs!"

My lower half is still in danger of being cut off by the closing ramp. That or the vertical Gs will drag me down back on the planet.

Riddick pulls me in like a rag-doll with enough force to rupture muscle before the ship shoots off in the upper atmosphere and hopefully away from this God forsaken place.

Not what I call a smooth take off, considering neither of us is properly tied down. There's gonna be some serious bruising involved, once my body stops banging against the ship's walls. Riddick secured his arms on one of my hips at some point, so we're twisted beyond relief. I think his combat boot is lodged in a crook on the floor, because he seems steadier than my little banged up self. I think I have a concussion, otherwise there's no explaining the ache that travels from my head to my stomach. I end up spilling my guts – and I swear there are rotten petals mixed in there – on the metal floor. Riddick makes a soothing motion with his hand. His words sting though.

"You're cleaning that up, by the way."

I shake his offending limbs off with a vengeance, but my knee misses him by an inch. And they're bony, hurtful knees too. Shame.

The fighting noises we make – I do manage to step on his toes eventually – draw some attention from the pilot.

"Let your bodies be purged of the vileness. You will feel better then."

"What do you mean…wha'…EWWW! VAAKO!"

"Stepped in something you shouldn't have, Carolyn?"

"Shut up you asshole! If it's not coming out of your mouth, I don't wanna know where you're stocking it."

He rights himself up with a grunt. What do you know? Big Evil aches.

"Don't sweat, I'm anal retentive like that."

"Sure explains a lot then…" I mutter under my breath.

But he's not listening anyway, intent as he is on _our rescuing pilot._

"Some sexy legs you got there, Vaako. Maybe one day I'll show you mine, but now you've got to hand the wheel to Miss Docking Pilot over there."

Vaako's legs could be a problem. I'm not sure there's something on this ship strong enough to stop the infection, let alone put some flesh back on.

"Miss Docking Pilot is playing doctor now. You take the wheel."

Hidden compartments yield some bandages and something I'm hopping is antiseptic, but no dope out. Great! I'm not keen on beating him up, just so I could help him lessen a pain through another. This might require some serious intervention.

I turn to where Vaako is now lying in a heap of visible bones on the floor. The man's got some freaking stamina, I'll give him that.

"Vaako boy! Listen up!"

He opens his eyes blearily and I notice they're blood red and he's missing his earlobe. How the fuck did that happen?

"I'll have to sear off the flesh and stop the infection. Disinfectant dabs won't cut it. Think you can handle some hardcore surgery?"

"Think you can?"

"Watch the road, asshole, I wasn't talking to you!"

I think I heard Riddick say "..we're in space…" but he's not the type to be that lame of a comeback.

"Just…" his grip on my hand is tightening still "…do it! Try!"

"I did say I would do that, didn't I? So…here goes…something."

A good Hunter never leaves home without a medicomp. I end up needing it most of the times, anyway. Okay…first come the vials. Mix them up and you get a regenerative…erm…sludge…that can be used to cauterize wounds when applied properly. The trick is to do it fast.

Vaako screams.

While it is true in space no one can hear your cries, in a tight ship they're pretty audible. I clamp up the wounds as best I can, and patch him up with the spare bandages. After half a stimulant shot, he's reduced his screaming to grunting.

"You're gonna get the rest later, you understand? You'll be in a lot more pain still, when the stimulant runs off."

"I'm…in pain…now!"

"Well, sorry."

I get up and join Riddick in the cockpit.

"How far away are we?"

He's being eerily silent, all of a sudden.

"23 weeks."

"You've gotta be fucking with me! We haven't been gone that long!"

"Wish I was…"

How can he be so calm about this? How can the clocks be wrong? How can…

"It's the Underverse. It screwed up our board, that's gotta be it. That's the only explanation."

I punch glowing little buttons, turn nods and search the stars. The big, bright stars don't lie. Plus, this ship is equipped with Aquilan star maps. You can't go wrong with those.

"What's the hurry? Got some place to be?"

The key to any good lie is make it part truth.

"Vaako doesn't have 23 weeks."

"Neither do we, without cryo. Or supplies."

Of course, it helps to have a clear head when you're lying.

This is Riddick, after all.

"So, I'm gonna ask you again. You got somewhere to be?"

And because this is Riddick, I'm fucked from the get-go.

I don't look up from the board as I prattle off. I don't need to.

"The Armada is probably under attack from the Wraith ships. Deep Space Wraith Center deployed a massive counterattack force to stop the invaders. I ordered the Kumary to retrieve Jack before shit hits the fan, but other than that, I'm not sure what to expect when…_if_ we get home."

"This…_counterattack force_…does it involve the Preds we talked about?"

"Maybe. Most likely. I'm not sure."

He's fallen silent again, but he's still looking at me, knowing full well that I won't be locking gaze with him anytime soon.

"Let me tell you something, Carolyn. You can't lie worth a fuck with them baby blues of yours. I see right through them…right through you."

"Like always." I snort.

"You can go ahead and roll the dice with your life, if you want. But two can play that game."

"And you'll cheat."

"Damn straight I will. Just thought you should know that. Pick a side and stay there."

I swallow hard and chance a quick glance his way. Pick a side, he says. He's already done that, for the both of us, that's what it always comes down to. His jaw is set, but his hand is spasmodic on the shift. It twitches uncontrollably, but he bothers not with it. He bothers not with anything outside his mind and whatever resolution he's forming in there. I have the sudden urge to ask him if he saw them too, those Furyan ghosts in Alysum and just as I was about to open my mouth…

"…Shit!"

I open my mouth.

Shit fucking damn!

I swivel in my chair so fast it takes a while for my vision to right itself.

"God damn!"

"What?"

Now he barks at me. Idiot!

"Jesus! We forgot Aereon!"

What happened next was so unexpected, it just had to happen to me.

Riddick punched in the autopilot, turned around and very tactfully picked up his goggles and placed them atop his head. His eyes shone brighter than any led. His lips curled a little, then a lot and then he let out a roar so mighty, I thought it would breach the hull.

Yeah, I've heard that before.

The bastard was laughing.

I think he even doubled over in laughter.

"We forgot…Aereon?!?"

There were tears in his eyes, I swear. Or at least, manly eyeball perspiration.

"Well, shit, Carolyn, I think we should plot course back to that planet and make sure we don't forget her this time. You want me to do it or should you?"

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Why not? We've got time."

And a fresh new string of chuckles bursted free from his lips. He was HAHA-ing so hard I was afraid his voice would give.

"We forgot Aereon, she says. Fuck, Carolyn, you don't even like her!"

"That's not the point!"

"Say we go back…"

"You said that, I…"

He laughed some more just so he could interrupt me.

"…where would you look first? Chances are she didn't even make it with us to the planet!"

Finally, faced with my less than amused attitude, he calmed down, somewhat, and shook his head in resignation.

"I think they should name a disease after you: the Carolyn complex or something. _Forget_ no one behind."

"The Carolyn syndrome, Riddick. You're the one suffering from the Carolyn complex."

"Fair'nuff. Come on, we'll burn a candle for her later."

"Jackass. Maybe I wanted to kill her myself. You didn't have to go all cuckoo for coco puffs over this. You scared the shit outta me! You pull that stunt one more time, I'll vent your ass through an airlock!"

"If you think you can find one on this ship, sure, go ahead and try."

"Don't tempt me! And you're really okay with this? With no knowing what happened with that Elemental? Really?"

"You worry enough for the both of us, so why should I? All I know is, Aereon wasn't on this ship when we landed. She could just pop up later. Or not. I think we should bet on it or something. Kill time before it kills us. Simple enough philosophy."

I strapped myself back into the chair.

"I think I liked you more when you were less talkative."

"It's a small ship, Carolyn, and we're gonna be spending a lot of time on it. I'd like to talk to you for the while we got left before you pull a catch and release on me again. That is, unless you want to be doing something else with this time."

Oh, I've wondered when we would be getting back to that. I sighed in resignation. I hate it that we've established some things would never change. But he wanted us to talk first. Well, I won't deny him that.

"Listen. Some pretty fucked up things happened on that planet or whatever the hell it was. I lost you there for a moment."

"We all got lost there for a moment." He breathed in that deep voice of his that is menacing even when he's not trying to be.

I bite my lip and feel my palms starting to sweat. Thinking about the horror of that place and the horror in my mind and the things I did and did not do and were in fact done for me, I can't help but spurt out something inanely retarded and slightly pathetic.

"I know I've got lots to make up for."

Behold, Universe, Carolyn is making the statement of the next few centuries to come. Surprisingly, the Universe doesn't snort back. And there's barely a snerk from Riddick.

"And I can't shake the feeling that all that's happened to the two of us these past five years have inevitably led us here."

I take in my surroundings as in for the first time: the stuffy cockpit of a worn out skiff, drifting pointlessly to a designated place in space that we may never reach.

"Right where we started from. Minus the flying raptor and its tail through my back."

"You tried."

He looks at me with an inexplicable feeling dancing in his eerie eyes. It's not lust, definitely not love, something foreign to commitment and completely different from responsibility. It's not even guilt. It's something purely Riddick, an ineffable essence that draws people to him, that makes him so wanted all over this 'verse. I don't claim to understand it, but at least I can tell it apart from all his other moods.

He calls me on my confusion quick enough and shuts out the nimble stream of emotions glowering faintly in his shined eyes. I think it makes him uncomfortable, showing that to me. One day I'll have to tell him I really don't have neither the power, nor the resolution to hurt him.

"I mean you tried to die. Not many people do that."

He chuckled darkly and spoke with sorrow lacing his words. The sorrow of a caged beast that would never know much better than having slams all over the galaxy keep a cell for him opened just in case he decided to drop by.

"Just so you know, that wasn't what made you human. Actually, it was pulling that damn handle and confessing to Johns, that motherfucker, " – he said this affectionately, by the way – "all remorseful like that labeled you _of the human race_ in my eyes. Even that fall you took at Billy Boy's hand was good enough for me. It was what you did towards the end that made you…weird."

I bit back tears. Bastard always makes me cry.

"But you tried. And you failed. Get over it."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me. Survive this, survive that. Live for this, live for that."

"Maybe they're right. Come on, _don't you want to try to live_ for a change? Might be interesting."

I eyed him with all the seriousness I could muster.

"Who are you and what have you done with Richard B. Riddick slash escaped convict slash murderer? Do I need to go back and look for him now?"

Riddick – and I dearly hope it's him – just let out a hearty rumble and smirked back at me.

"Why? That's what I do. Beat the odds. Stay alive at the expense of others. Live to run another day. Pisses the hell outta everybody."

"No shit."

"It's what makes me popular."

"It's what makes you obnoxious."

"I'll make you a deal then. I'll stick around for breakfast. You just don't die on me again."

I wipe my sweaty palms off my grimy pants. Probably not a good idea. What I'm about to say is probably not a good idea either.

"So…we give this a chance."

Definitely not.

"Whatever _this _is." Fuck, he's so casual about this. Who knew?

I gulp audibly.

"You're just saying so cause we're gonna die anyway on this crapass ship. We're not making the 23 weeks ETA."

"Just might."

"Why, because God loves you so fucking much?"

"I keep things interesting for him."

"Pity…"

That wasn't me.

"…for the rest of us that God likes to return the favor."

"_**Aereon!**_"

This is suddenly all too much.

She's barely here, resting against the wall like she never left. But she looks worse for the wear, like a sputtering candle light in a drafty temple, going on and off in the darkness of the ship. Her veil has fallen and fallen are her eyes. They are hollow eyes that have seen too much and are unable to speak of it. She's filled to the brink with some sort of a revelation.

"Why, sister, have you spoken to the fucker lately?"

There is no affection in his words this time around.

"That…is for me to know…" her breathing is labored.

"Then keep it to yourself and just…" I make a vague gesture with my hand "…lay there, all back of the bus and shit!"

So much for my sympathy for this tricky Elemental. I swear she gives me headaches. Somehow, I know this isn't the last of her meddling ways I'm going to see in my…_newly agreed upon_…life. Just because she looks fragile now, doesn't mean…

"_**PROXIMITY ALERT! CAUTION! INBOUND SIGNAL!**__"_

"FUCK! What is it now?!"

Screw the fact I was lamenting our fate on this ship just a moment ago! The display shows a rather large vessel has just jumped in our space and is setting course for us. This calls for evasive maneuvers.

"Whow, there, Captain, this right here is our ticket back home. Just stick out a thumb. Bound to get picked up."

"_Hello, hello, unknown little Eta ship! This is Captain of the Leander speaking! Just stay still and don't struggle too much as we ever so slowly drag you onboard!_"

"MIRKO, YOU LITTLE SHIT, CUT THE CRAP AND GET US THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" I holler over the coms once I realize just who our visitors really are.

"_Gentle there, sugar plum, no need to get all sour. I was getting to that. Now you hold on tight. I'm coming to get you."_

I groan at the stupid idiot and at Riddick's quirked eyebrow. Which is also stupid.

"Might want to hold on to something. Mirko's shit on stick with tracking devices. I'll get a little jiggly with the ol'brain."

Sure enough, he hauls us to the docking bay too forcefully and I end up maneuvering the damn ship in pressure enhancing force field. Fucking idiot. The _Leander _is so not made to be a Wraith vessel. But it supplies the Empire with so much merchandise and information, it's actually quite ridiculous. It ain't that big of a ship.

"So, friend of yours?"

"You can call him a smuggler pain in the ass of mine. But he serves the Empire well and he gets to smoke ten packs of cigs a day with one barely functional lung. He's a rec-station whore, that's what he is."

"So friend of yours."

Sometimes I think Riddick's deadliest weapon is his intuition. Quite frankly, it drives me insane.

"_Leander_ we have two wounded, one's going into recovery asap. Standby rec-stations."

"_Roger, Captain, acknowledged at that."_

So they came looking for us. Then the attack is over. I cannot help but wonder what's left of the Armada… who's left of the Armada…

We've finally boarded the _Leander_ after the docking sequence from hell_._ I unbuckle myself and jump over our two resident voyagers turned ill. Shit, I can't even see Aereon right. I don't wanna know what happens if I step _into _someone I'm not supposed to. I turn to Riddick before I open the hatch.

"This is gonna happen and it's gonna happen fast. A Wraith is never safe outside their own ship. Even with someone as seemingly harmless as Mirko."

He casually slips back his goggles and smirks that arrogant smirk of his that gets people in loads of bloody trouble.

"Lead the way, _sugar plum._"

Charmer.

The hatch opens…

**A/N 2: Mirko is the Captain of the Wraith Vessel **_**Leander**_**, one of the three most important Wraith Vessels in Deep Space, next to the **_**Trinian **_**and the **_**Kumary. **_**Unlike the other two, he covers mostly commerce and transportation, with limited combat skills.**

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	30. Chapter 30 Behind the Door

**A/N: First off, I'd like to thank all those who reviewed, added this story to their fav list and generally read this fic! You guys are the best! This chapter is dedicated to two of my best friends, Hope and Hobitzik, who have begged for an update all summer long…Well, here you go girls! Enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine! Just playing with it! Oh, and I used one of my favorite PB stories as inspiration: The Maggot Among Flies, by Krov Za Krov (go check my profile if you want to read it, it's in the Favorite Stories list, I recommend it).**

The awkwardness that comes with illness and insanity had settled in the Necro speedster ever since my little spat with Carolyn a couple o'minutes ago. Don't have to be much of a scientist to figure out how to yank her chain and get her up and running as she best as she is capable of. 'Cause Carolyn is not quite right in the head no more, constantly going back and forth between the woman she once was and the new honed killing drone she was conditioned to become.

After all, it'd be damn shitassed of me not to recognize the symptoms. I had years of neatly organized and instructed murderin' hanging off my back before the whistle blew in my face like a fucking spittle orgy, but they have schools and academies and petty thieves in every dark alley in the galaxy that will teach you to ghost the motherfucker that comes at you because that's what they'll do to you if you don't. That's survival one o'one for ya'll and in this 'verse you don't have to fall face first in a pit stock-full with the next alien race of skull-fuckers to wise up about that.

But good ol'Carolyn with her jacked up conscience, prissy clean, yet still half-assed morals and all too human regret for jumping obstacles and refusing to die when the fat lady would settle for forty-plus instead wasn't as lucky as the rest of her all too precious humanity. She had to take the golden hard way and drag me down for the ride. Ghosts haunt outta lack of occupation. Death ain't fun and misery loves company, but she's still breathing after five fucking long years, a hell of an animal in her own right, with too much scarring and too much power and not enough illusions to give a fuck no mo' about the simple things in life like madness and its glorious consequences.

Yup, she's pretty fucked way up in her neocortex and driving herself there at high velocity even without my help, though I bet the bounty on my neck it's still all my fault in that screwed little blonde head of hers I'd like to do unspeakable things to. I wonder at times…would she have still gone down the messed up drain if I had taken her with me forcibly on that damn skiff? Yeah, yeah, pansy-assed question that'll do no one no particular good, but I can't help but notice that the kid was not far off that path either so it gets me thinking that maybe at some subconscious level I'm the one doing something to them, stirring something deep and animalistic in their brain that has these girls o'mine leaving a trail of blood-deduced corpses all over people's back yards.

But you know what they say, no refund if you break'em. I got to them first and no big bad alien is gonna stake the claim on already charted territory. My mark don't wash that easily, fuckers should know that by now.

"Lead the way, _sugar plum._"

But whoever them fuckers are, they sure got my kinda sense of humor.

The hatch opens and Carolyn retreats to the inner side of the ship, wary of her surroundings. Behind door number one there's a scrubbed medical team waiting to come through. All human or lookin' the part. They step in the darkness of the ship with fearless efficiency or sheer fucking stupidity. Aereon gives them reason to pause seeing as she's the more…_exotic_…out of the two patients and she's not sporting toothpicks for legs – which apparently give them no trouble at all.

But they manage to get her out of the confinements of our cozy vessel right after Vaako whose legs are quickly encased in two look-alike tube-fashioned devices.

Pretty interesting technology. Makes my eyeshine look like pulling off a band-aid if Vaako Boy's hollering is any indication.

"Portable rec-stations," Carolyn pipes in. She's been watching my eye movements, although I got my goggles back on. Now this is potentially interesting material: her body language is a dead giveaway most of the times. I read that taut ass of hers like an open book. Sure the print's gotten smaller while we've been apart, but she still can't fool me. Finding out she's turned the tables on my own game has me wondering if maybe age's catching up with me. That could be a hassle.

Not much time to dwell on that shit though, as apparently there's a body connected to the voice on the radio that is ambling his way towards us as the medical team usher past him.

"Oh, he'll be fine. He's got good lungs and everything." A drawled out voice, heavy with the grittiness of tobacco, informs us through the open hatch. Carolyn slowly sidles to the ramp, sticking her bladed hands in the pockets of her slacks. She's offering quite a nice view of her backside I might add.

"He better be after all the trouble I went through bringing back his freakin' Eta ass. But he's not as useless as you might think. Tasteless, maybe." She's acting all cool and collected about this, though it's not really working that great for her. Her juices are burning low with apprehension and she smells all confused, like she's not quite sure where to start or what to do now that doesn't involve hacking flesh right and left.

There's a deep, retaliating you-know-I-know-more-than-you do-chuckle coating this guy's words that builds up even more tension in Carolyn already high-strung demeanor. Yep, sure enough, she's outta focus and he's picking up on it.

"I ain't in the thinking business, honey-bunny, I ain't got no place arguing with whatever you say."

Haha, that was _kinda _cute. How can this guy live with his manliness intact must be quite the goddamn feat.

"I leave that to hot-shot Wraiths like you and Lou'boy in your sparkly black _Man'dacas_. You say there's some value in his life, I know better than to beg to differ." The voice is double edged, cutting through the cloud of smoke with more killing intent than Carolyn is comfortable with.

I can tell 'cause she makes small thunking noises as she trots on the ramp towards the bay floor, distinct gestures that come out intimidating enough to send the message to the other Captain that she's no pound of flesh on the meat market of the less sparkly and more discolored – what did she call it again? – _Leander._ Pansy assed name if you ask me, but it's always the blunt knife that hurts the most when they're poking your eyes out with it. Carolyn goes on in that small voice of hers that falters under the strain of a faraway accent.

"Good. Then you should know that the Elemental, on the other hand…her I don't feel like worrying about."

Amazing how Carolyn manages to grow another set of balls when the need arises. They're playing a game these two of how much they can let out before someone pulls a shiv and cuts the wank dead.

"Good for you 'cause you don't need to." There's the distinctive sizzling sound of a chain smoker indulging in his favorite pastime: lighting a cig right off the end of the other. "'ve got enough people doing that already."

The Captain mumbles, his lips probably twisting themselves avidly around the freshly lit cigarette. The smoke travels to my nostrils and I involuntarily twitch. It's heavy and stale. Not my favorite brand of cigs. Smells more like fauna than flora.

Suddenly they both bristle, Carolyn in apprehension of what the Captain said and him because he felt like there'd be no gain in outing whatever trickeration he's got goin' on back in the open like that. There's a wafty scent of fear mingled in all that smoke so the Captain decides to play the safe card. There's something stirring in the other Captain on this ship that has the smoking man suddenly up on his tippy toes.

Man, it looks to me like everyone is losing all these drummed out battles to something Carolyn hasn't even done yet. I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable with that. She does however extricate her hands from her pockets and swishes the blades just a tiny bit.

The tension between the two Captains is cut down with barely any pump at all.

"But people worry too much as it is." The walking furnace carries on in a rushed tone, words spewing out of his mouth with unprecedented speed. "Pesky human nature an' all that. It does nothing but takes your mind off the more important stuff and turns you into an inconsiderate dilly-dallying bastard. No wonder honey-bunny is out to chop my head. Nothing to chop, sugar plum, if I forgot such an important detail. Sorry about that. My mouth ran off and left my head to jack off by its lonely self. Not that you could do that any other way. Well, you could, but that's not very nice, ya know…"

"Get. To. The. Fucking. Point!"

Sure enough, the blades came out.

"Sure, sure. Here: Lights down!"

And the lights go down.

"Now, _he_ can come out."

Honey-bunny is not amused.

"You cheap son of a bitch! You know I can't see shit in the dark!"

"But_ I_ can."

Carolyn gives me her best FuckYouAssHole look over her tense little shoulder.

But my curiosity about this whole situation is not nearly as satisfied as her sense of preservation. I brush past her in such a way that she has to hop to the side because the ramp is not big enough for the two of us. The Captain of the _Leander_ stares at me with undisguised awe and little to no intent to kill. His burning cig slacks in the corner of his parched lips as I take in this lanky man with a spear gun attached to his left hip and a wrist harness heavier than his entire frame. The striking thing about his features – other than the fag that seems to have been surgically attached to his mouth – is his complete lack of eyelashes that for some reason makes quite the impression on me. It flashes in my mind that he might have killed the tiny hairs covering his eyes with the constant heating smoke coming from his cigarettes.

In the dark, he offers his hand.

"Mirko Rotten Tusk. Captain of the Wraith Ship _Leander._"

Even without colors, I just know his teeth must be shit brown from all that nicotine or whatever chopped up monkey he rolls in those things.

I take the hand and shake it vigorously. He doesn't budge and his grip is fierce if not downright strong.

"Richard B. Riddick…"

"Famous Bad Blood of the Outer'verse. Scar Back's charge."

_Scar Back?_ Well, that's new! I grin coyly over to where Carolyn is sulking in the overall dimmed part of the ship. I make sure she sees it, 'cause I ain't no shit in the dark. She flashes another fuck you sign at me, this time with the sharp tip of her steely blade. If she'd been born a man, she wouldn't be half as fun.

The man on the other side of my arm grins ruefully and squeezes on more time for emphasis.

"That's the title you're sporting up here, on my ship, Mister Badass Incarnate. Us, Deep Space dwellers, don't care much 'bout what the rest offa universe has to say. Which comes in handy when you're in the particular situation we're currently six feet in."

He drops my hand to finger his smoke and placate a murderous Carolyn.

"You've been gone a long time, Captain Sugar Plum. Thought they'd done you in this time for sure."

That's probably not the best way to go about it, though. This is no snake he's tryin' to charm, it's a full fledged fire breathing dragon and everything.

"I only got two things to say to you, before I _make _you spew your guts right here on this platform, you stinkin' pile of future _gutless _white meat: How long and _you wish it were so._"

"Long enough and _bring it on._"

He blinks. Stupid rookie mistake. The fag dies out, a smoldering splurge of light, lying in the pooling blood on the floor. Deep Space dweller or not, his blood is still red and that's good enough for my shiv. I'm about to perform a little surgery of my own on his eyeballs – the permanent kind – when Carolyn lands a punch on my stomach and I swear I can hear her bones clattering. She growls in that low voice of hers I've never heard on a living person before, with the fire burning bright in her unmarred baby blues that reminds me just how much passion this tiny woman packs in her small frame.

"I'll teach you to step in on my kill, Riddick, you fuck!"

"If you're trying to impress me, it's a damn good way of wasting your _unnaturally_ long life."

"So is trying to kill you, but you don't see me complain! Now let him the fuck go so I can hear his lousy mouth out!"

I push the Captain away and stalk a step back whilst looking generally unaffected, although inside the darkened area where my heart should be, anatomically speaking, of course, there's a slight tug I've been starting to feel every time Carolyn verbally emasculates me like that. The fact that I'm interior monologue-ing about it is even more of a blow to my outstanding levels of manliness. To think I could be over there, painfully extricating the life out of the fag-lover of a What-Ever-The-Fuck Captain, than over here, watching Carolyn doing the exact same thing.

Damn woman turned the tables on me like no one got to even _think­_ about trying in all my life. But that's what you get for wishing – one time, it was one time only – to have a _real _woman in your life. I'm never careful with what I wish for. Never had to be.

"Listen here, Mirko Rotten Tusk, next time you open your fucking blow hole, you're telling me what I want to know and no extra shit as side dish! Do. You. Comprehend. That?"

She punctuates every word by shoving her heel in different locations on his chest that cause him extreme pain. She's, in fact, cracking his ribs in order to puncture his already shredded lungs.

"He's gonna choke if you keep doing that."

"Shaddap and go sulk somewhere else!"

Fuck nice, strong and appealing survival instincts! She's a little monster.

"Okay, let's start this: Where is the Necromonger Armada?"

Between coughing up blood from his torn lips and futile attempts at shoving Carolyn away with flailing arms, Mirko manages to spurt out:

"Scat…tered…and…destroyed…Fuck…d'nggit…move!"

Carolyn does not comply and shoves to hurt. I wish I had some tea to go with this.

"The Kumary and its crew?"

Mirko is by now clawing at her restless leg, probably feeling for a weapon. By the time he finally shucks out a hidden shiv that inexplicably catches my eye before it draws Carolyn's blood, she has his hand pinned down with a sharp _shurikan_ shooting at high velocity from her armband. The pilfered shiv flies across the floor and I trace its direction making a mental note of where it landed so I can pick it up later and take a closer look at it. There's something nagging me about it. But Mirko's hollering is beginning to grate on my nerves. How I'd wish she'd ghost the motherfucker already. He's got nothing to say that we won't find out sooner or later.

"SAFE! Stop…they…'re safe on the ship…four…four made it…_stop_..."

She doesn't stop.

"Garreth, Lya and who else?"

"A woman…an Eta and the…the…_charge_..."

Now she goes completely still, but it takes the aching Captain a while to realize he's whining for no reason and without an audience. He stops.

The blood trickles down Carolyn's ankle, she's so unmoving I can hear it. The wound is nothing but a scratch and still blood trickles time away till at last she takes her foot off Mirko's chest.

"Jack… is…is _here?_"

I bet she wishes her voice did not falter just now.

Mirko manages to haul his ass partially up and says in a completely unaffected voice:

"'s far as I know, still in stasis, or cryo or whatever the flying fuck they're calling it these days. Guess nobody bothered to check the speed souls regularly travel at."

"But they bothered to check what speed I'm traveling at?"

"Me thinks they were more interested in what speed _he_ was traveling at."

Carolyn flashes me a deep and penetrating look and I feel like there's another totally different person behind those deep, deep eyes. Suddenly, the scars on her face stand out completely and there's nothing human left 'bout her. It drives me _insane_, this dark look on her face that is not the face of the woman I could ultimately bend to my will if I pushed hard enough to break. She looks like she could _break me_ and whoever else dared to come in contact with me. Strange to see so much of myself somehow twisted with her jacked up morals. Strange to see what's behind the door to one's soul. I'll never do it again, the whole soul-searching routine. Some doors are better kept under lock and key.

"Who's they?"

Mercs, Necros, the usual suspects?

"Furyans."

Now, you see, if I pride myself with anything, it must be my fast reflexes, as exemplified by my boot being in his face in the next second after he set loose that little birdie.

"Piece of advice: don't talk more shit than your ass can produce."

Cue infliction of severe, life threatening pain.

"Cut it out," Carolyn's voice is eerily calm and I hate it, "Mirko's a serious masochist. You're only turning him on and I don't want no prison issues joke breaking out after we've just returned from the fucking afterlife. I want to at least enjoy my goddamn moment of enlightenment for the very – _very –_ brief moment it lasts, thank you very much."

"Well, you can enjoy and move at the same time, so let's get going!"

Mid-battle epiphanies don't ever pan out good for me, but holding hands with Carolyn and dragging her ass away from the bay area while she's bitching about my manhandling her can on occasion do the trick.

"You don't even know where you're going, Riddick, let the fuck go! Riddick!"

"I'll know when I get there. Carolyn. Besides, no good'll come outta cowering in fear in the bay playing 20 questions with the perv Captain."

"No good comes out of anything you do."

I manhandle her to a stop in some dark corner of the dark ship. My kinda place.

"You're no fun when you're enunciating."

Truthfully, she's condescending as all hell and after the holier-than-that out attitude Imam practically shoved down my throat I'm more than fed up with any "better" version Carolyn might be inclined to dish out my way.

"Why didn't you ask about your people?"

What, no screaming, no Riddick stop it, you inhuman brute?

"What? Is it Carolyn's turn at mind-fuck day and I missed it?"

"Still, you could have asked about y-"

"Not my people."

"Well, they're still your problem!" Carolyn harrumphed and moved on with a piss-assed face.

"Come on, let's go, we ain't getting there with you being so fucking slow!"

People should really stop and appreciate my patience. _I can always kill her later_ is playing over and over in my head. It will hurt. Killing her is gonna be the mother of all hurt.

I get a move on, Carolyn's back a constant in the maze like corridors of the ship, her tight ponytail sticking out underneath the black cap at odd angles. I hate that she chops her hair like that. I can't think straight like this and there is this resonating big word that sounds like _apprehension _that I'll mistake her for something else potentially harmful and I won't be able to stop myself if I can't recognize the distinct swishing of her curly hair whenever she's near. She makes different noises now, if she makes them at all, she smells like she's not here at all, but some evil twin sister with the blades and skills from the Holly Man's Hell out for the kill and carnage. Believe it or not, that's not really what I wanted, two mini-me's running around the universe, dealing killer blows right and left.

Maybe Carolyn's right. Maybe I should quit doing the right thing, the good deed, and stick to being an asshole. At least that always gets the girl riled up and ready to tackle me to the ground and have ourselves a mud fight.

"No guards, no crew. It's so easy, it's insulting."

"Wait for it, it'll get harder. The ship has sensors and heat-patterns detection software. They know we're here."

"Ah, your _other_ people."

She shoots me another patented death glare. The fondness of people with big expressive eyes, I guess.

"_They_'re not _people_. You'd like them, you know. Big honking animals with weird eyesight. You wear goggles, they wear masks. Don't ask for it to come off, they're damn ugly motherfuckers. But you get used to it after a while. Not that _you_ will ever get the chance."

"You think I can't take them on."

Not a question.

"Sure you can. Not sure you'd survive it."

No hesitation.

"You might have hurt my feelings."

And I might not be fucking with her. How painful is that?

She stops in her tracks and spins around to face me.

"Reality check, Riddick! I don't know what delusion you've tricked yourself into, but. One," the finger points in my face, "you would have died on that planet if I hadn't turned around for you and not even get a thank you, Carolyn for it. Two," the new addition could poke my eyes out, for real, "you fucking _fainted_ in the middle of the goddamn runaway with a swarm of Necros around and a blast of burning sunshine coming your way and I still don't know how you weaseled your way out of that one, too. Plain dumb luck, probably! Three," she's already switching hands, "it took you half an hour to get your ass wiped around before x-ing out a guy who was already half dead. And you, Mister Big Bad Murderer, had _help_ from Vaako! Vaako! The guy who can't really make up his mind whose side he's really on. Sorry to say it, but you've gone a little lax."

"Maybe," and I swat away at her poking fingers, "I was just getting better acquainted with my humanity. Just. Like. You. Told. Me. To."

"And you listened to me?! I would have said anything to make you come back to me!"

…

Well, fuck.

"_**With!**_ Come back _with_ me! Fuck…"

The black cap comes off and she furiously drags her fingers through her mussed-up hair, as if she's deliberately trying to make herself uglier. I think there's a bit of blood caked up in there or at least a glob of something dark and slimy that catches on to her calloused fingers. It travels to her thighs as she once again gives in to her habit of wiping those pants in agony, frustration or whatever the hell is eating her right now. It used to be a sex drive with a touch of fear back in the day.

But I feel her distress. That's kind of a big deal she just let slip.

'Cause it's not like Imma gonna let her forget about it and she knows it.

The black cap is back covering the top of her eyes and efficiently masking her face away from me.

"Let's just…get going…"

Poor Carolyn is sporting that "the-thought-has-crossed-my mind" tone of voice that is merely an audible breath I can only hear because I'm that close. Hell, I've seen kids that don't fluster as much as she does. She's such a cute little mess, it's unbelievable.

"Never really went anywhere too far away from you, Carolyn."

I'm not fucking with her either. True, she doesn't know a thing about me. Her understanding of what I am and what makes me tick is superficial and based only on what her exceptional survival instincts kick started in her that she needed me to get them – all of them – safely across the great dark. In her mind, I'm a means to an end and she has to beat me into submission when I stray from the righteous path she had designed for her guilty conscience. And when I'm done doing that, I'm just another lost soul that cheated his way into her flock of protégés, but needs to be looked after nonetheless.

Needs to be saved.

Or else she won't get her all too precious redemption.

There is no want, other than what I can cajole out of her and I could bet a good amount of credits she feels guilty afterwards.

Guiltier than after slashing a guy's life.

And it has always been different with me.

There has always been want.

Want this woman.

Want this guilty, guilty woman.

Want her with all my might.

Because despite her unbelievably screwed way of looking at things, she was – and still is – as real to me as no one has ever been.

She had a name and a face and a scent that got away from me when I was out for the kill. That's never happened since. And she existed, even when I thought her gone, she existed for me, in me. She was the pain in the ass of my existence, something I hadn't been aware of except when people put it in danger. She was conscience.

Why this woman?

What makes her special?

Is it her humanity?

Her delusional acceptance of what I am and what I do and almost did to insure my own survival above that of others?

Her faith in a criminal?

A _murderer_?

When did Carolyn Fry, Second Class Docking Pilot on the merchant vessel _Hunter Gratzner_, mock Captain and everybody's fool, become _my _Carolyn?

My heart?

My conscience?

Truthfully, I don't know and even if I did I wouldn't know how to explain it. All I know is that I fought for the blind cause of a woman who was so paralyzed with guilt it was downright annoying. I did that because it cost me nothing. Because it would have gained me everything that mattered.

Survival.

Of the strongest.

Of the fittest.

Of which she was none.

And between willing to live and willing to die so they could live, my life became significant for the stupidly brave woman. That's all I know. I am _significant _for her. I am number one on her list of priorities. Sometimes even one of one.

Well, that makes two of us and it's as good a start as any, don't you think?

"I think I'm loosing my mind."

Carolyn is disturbed.

"You've already lost it."

I don't want her to be confused about that and she should be thankful. I'm really doing her a favor.

But all this deep thinking and revelation spree has got me in the mood for a different kind of release. So this emotional trickeration will just have to wait. There are a lot of doors that need opening around here.

Blood and people are waiting for us. Blood to spill, people to kill. That kinda shit.

I already made my way past Carolyn and the corridors are beginning to widen. We've been wedged in the service entry-ways up until now. But there's an opening up ahead and low but distinct noises coming not far away from here.

Smell of sweat, scent of heat, metal ringing and tempers flaring.

Clear signs of a rather large group of people, some human, some not and some in-between.

A hell of a lot of fire power too, but the dulcet sounds of evenly balanced shivs against evenly balanced shivs is overpowering.

Whoever _they _are, it looks like they'd rather take a swing at the sweet spot than blow a whole to your chest. I respect that.

Carolyn moves behind me.

"There are more people here than usual. You smell that? Like swamps and heated metal?"

I did.

"That's the scent of a Yautja. It's the smell their clammy skin gives off. A normal human being wouldn't be able to detect it, due to their active camouflage. Even conditioned soldiers fail to pick that up. It's always the shimmering cloak that gives the game away, but we're working on that. Remember this: the heavier the smell gets, the wearier the Pred becomes. Also, without the helmet, he can only see in the infrared spectrum. Objects of the same relative temperature get blurred in his vision. That annoys them when in fight, it blows off their concentration. Otherwise, they're pretty darn resilient and fast for their weight."

"So, we just walk in there uninvited? That's awfully uncivilized."

"You've seen any guards? Crew members loitering around? Trust me, that's all the invitation you're gonna get."

"Interesting."

"Don't be a moron. This is not the first time they set eyes on a Furyan before. Trust me, I got the whole _we've been proud to hunt them_ speech more times than I care to remember. And now you're not just another dangerous life form to them. You're an endangered one. Which means the skin on your ass would make a damn good trophy. More so if you waltz in there with a challenge. It's that simple."

It's never that simple. Challenge is a small word for what I have to walk in there for.

"What about the others?"

"Fuck me if I know. Mirko's never been good at dropping hints, though I always end up picking his shit. "

"Guess it's a surprise then."

She smiles a toothy grin at me as we approach door number two.

"Yeah, from your adoring fans."

"Tch. My overwhelming popularity is such a bitch."

Carolyn gave a small laugh that came out as a derisive snort, something I don't really appreciate given how much I actually _care_ for my popularity status, but she points at the closed double doors just short of the sensor detection range.

"The center of the ship is hollow. There's a suspended platform for the higher ranking Yautja and several levels below for attendants and smarting pups. There are many levels so it's not just a little tumble down the slope. If you fall of the edges of the platform, there's a good chance they won't find your bones any time soon. Usually they just evacuate them with the other waste out in space."

She thought about it a little, then shrugged.

"Well, if Mirko can be bothered with that, that is. Sometimes the cargo he ships around is stacked just above a pile of bones."

"He throws his own crew off into the deep?"

"On occasion. When they're trying to cheat off him or something. When he _thinks _they're trying to cheat off him. Other times it's the merchants he works with or the prisoners he catches. He ain't much of a fighter. Doesn't like drawing blood. He prefers their screams instead. Masochist, remember? There's a pretty good echo and even if the _Leander_ isn't much of a large ship, it has a big belly. And that's the doorway right there."

I get it. But there's just one more thing I have to ask her before…

"…we go into the belly of the beast, I just gotta know. That nifty blade Mirko pulled out of your boot…looked cool. That Pred weaponry too?"

She jumps when she remembers it's still somewhere in the bay area, under the ramp. She curses and straightens her back at me.

"It's not."

I draw nearer and whisper close to her ear as a jagged scar bellow her jaw catches my attention and I lick my lips because my mouth just went as dry as the desert where we first met.

"It's not?"

Her lips begin to tremble too and she bites at them to stop.

"Ok, it's not, it's yours, fine? I kinda borrowed it from your man cave down on UV-6. Told you I knew about that."

I move to the other side of her face, but I make sure to keep my arms crossed and away from her pretty little neck.

"What else of mine did you…appropriate?"

There's a slight moment of hesitation, a deep guilty pause when she switches her weight from one leg to the other, huffs and crosses her arms as well.

"Your chair."

"My bed."

It's a multifunctional.

"Whatever. It works wonders on my back. Who knew you were so homey?!"

Hah! The woman don't know shit about me.

"Still, Carolyn, my bed?! You just had to have that too?"

"Oh, go fuck yourself or ask that huge ego of yours to lend a hand!"

We're both silent as something dawns on her and her eyes go huge on her face. I can tell.

"What, you just realized that?"

"Fuck, Riddick, wipe that grin off your face! Oh my God, that's…you didn't…you did, didn't you? Of course you did! I thought it was only a chair…A Chair!!!!"

"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, Carolyn. I take it you do it differently?"

The look she's giving me right now could wipe out lesser life-forms.

"I _**do not**_ jerk off in a chair!!!"

"Bed. But you do."

She turns so red – and that I can see clearly – the whites of her eyes go dark too. I think she popped a vein. No, no, _veins_!

"You…you…Aaarrgh!"

The punch that was meant for me never hits home as she spins around and crashes her fist on the access button, beating high-fidelity sensors to opening the doors.

Good. Now she's fit to kill.

I take a step back just in case the light differential doesn't take me by surprise, but it's equally dark behind the doors as well. There's a soft light coming from leds up above, but it's minimal.

Minimal is not the word to describe the chamber, though. The platform is nothing short of huge. Crowded too.

Towering monsters on one side, with a tribal look about them, masked and with hair spun into dreads. All of them heavily armed and trained on our movements. There are humans too, or look-alikes.

There's a man, standing tall and proud in garbs similar to Carolyn's and his scarred eyes smile at me as if we were long lost acquaintances. And true enough, his presence feels incredibly familiar. I know this man and yet we've never met. I don't forget faces and a face like his – fine and well proportioned with a deceivingly kind look in his eyes, eyes that shine like Carolyn's, which means they're light blue or very light green – is very hard to forget. He is sitting across a throne like structure, though it is neither as imposing, nor as grand as that of the Necromongers.

There's something sitting on it, a shimmering figure with an old scent, but there's no clammy feeling to it. It's not pungent, but it is subtle and strong. Whoever sits there has earned that right a thousand times over and I don't need to take a look at the trophy case where various dead sockets look down on us. I can't even name a quarter of the beasts shown there. I've never even heard of such things existing. This is no Kubla Kahn collection. This is a Hunter's pride on the show for all the world to see. That's something to be respected, if not downright admired.

The man in black comes forward and his voice is authoritative, yet not unpleasant. Nothing about this man is actually repulsive and still there is a cold undertone to how he moves and how he acts that gives away his total lack of hesitation in killing you if he would so please. This one isn't quite the Hunter these big boys here are. He's too much of a killer for that.

He talks to Carolyn, but I don't feel excluded. This bad boy's too good.

"Welcome back, Captain. You truly are the pride of your clan. May Cetanu grant you long life to hunt the verse."

Carolyn nods and the cap comes off to show the mark on her forehead.

"So be it."

"Lord Marshal," and even he is amused by this, "in the name of the Great One, welcome aboard the Wraith ship _Leander_. It is an honor having you here."

By the way them fellas are barring their weapons, I bet it is.

"Sorry, but I was told I had another title around here."

When he grins like he is now, his eyes turn into very narrow slits that make him look epically ruthless. His power is addictive and he knows his shit.

"That's great, Mister Riddick! Lord Marshal is too pretentious and a little useless as things are now. And they don't like it." He nods to the group of Preds who look as hostile as all hell, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all. "The name of an Eta is not fit for one such as you. It's an insult to Scar Back as well."

"Where's Jack?" Carolyn asks out of the blue and her voice booms across the platform.

The first signs of irritation show on the man's face, but it's not with her, nor with any one here.

"Safe. Though in company."

"And my crew?"

"Keeping her safe from company."

"Elaborate, Lou'An."

He eyes me apologetically and there's a crisp sincerity in his demeanor I don't quite understand.

"Furyans have her."

Aha.

"You said they were dead!" Carolyn is in his face.

I can't get myself to react. In any way. But if he hurts her, I just might.

"I was mistaken. They had an Elemental with them."

"What, another one?!"

"No, I'm afraid it's the same one."

"How interesting."

The quarrelling duo turn their heads to me.

"And what would Furyans want with my Jack?"

Lou'An is taken aback by this, but he hides it well. He probably still thinks there's some sort of an association between me and these Furyans they keep going on about. I could tell them a few things.

"She's nothing more than a bargaining chip for them, I suppose. They want her to get to you. Since you are Scar Back's charge and Scar Back is part of a Yautja clan, we disagree with their methods and consider them insulting."

He doesn't consider them insulting. He would've have done the exact same thing. But as a Captain he obviously answers to the clan. A clan he's clearly not part of. Neither of the two Captains is.

Only Carolyn. That's the meaning behind the red mark on her forehead. Others have the same mark burned into their helmets.

Lou'An has none.

"We have brought them here along with the surviving Necromongers."

He doesn't like the word on his tongue and every time he says it, the Preds bristle up ferociously. He doesn't like that either.

"To see what they want and put an end to this."

"So you can go back to your hunting?"

"So we can go back to our hunting!"

He can already taste my blood on his blade, his eyes tell me that. I take off my goggles – somehow I didn't want to do it sooner, even with the convenient darkness – and I demand that my curiosity be sated.

"Have we met before?"

Suddenly, Carolyn is frightened because some one else beats Lou'An to the answer.

"_Yes._"

The shimmering one stands and it casts off its camouflage. The figure is that of a Yautja, but much more slender built and older by the look of his withered locks. The mask it wears is badly battered and bears the mark of the clan in deeper, more jagged lines, as if it had carved the sign numerous times over its long life.

Every one takes a step back and even the more vocal of the Preds quiet down.

The Great One – it has to be him, only for his commanding presence – takes deliberate steps to remove the mask with his scaly hands. He does so like he's performing a ritual, one that I have to pay careful attention to. There is no time for fear, no time for the good ol' fight or flight to kick in, because the only thing I can make myself feel right now is awe. His sluggish movements are hypnotic and the hiss of tubes being disconnected lure me into a trance. There is something purely beautiful in this old wild animal. Something that calls to me, stirs the beast. This is what they call the calm before the storm. The stillness before the gushing blood.

The mask comes off, revealing features truly fit for an alien. Small beady eyes that look almost human on a large face with retractable mandibles that flicker in and out, displaying its rimmed teeth, sharp like piranhas'. It's this contrast that makes him look so utterly alien. The round opening it uses for a mouth produces sounds that imitate human speech, but you have to strain to understand.

"_Bad Blood of the Dark Land. You that has a Hunter's luck, but a killer's soul._"

That didn't sound like a compliment.

There is none of the hesitation Carolyn spoke of once he removed the mask. He may see me as nothing more solid than a mass of red but that doesn't mean his vision isn't trained on me.

"_They come and claim when I could come and hunt so there is no more claim._"

He flickers his mandibles furiously and rages on beating his chest.

"_But I see your strength they say comes from them. I say different. I have seen different. You will prove it to me. For I want to witness the miracle, that which Scar Back brought back from The Sacred Place. One more miracle before I hunt with Cetanu. One more fight._"

"Till the end," Carolyn whispers.

"_We here have begun a fight. It will not end…until the end._"

"Let it come then."

I've always liked a good fight.

Let the last door open.


	31. Chapter 31 Little Boy Blue

**A/N: Hey guys! Yeah, I know I took forever to write this chapter, but I did give you fair warning! Thanks to HopeK, Ellie, Maria, Mayra, Hobitzik and all those who pressured – aka asked nicely – to get this done already. Sorry, but the chapter, I swear, came to have a life of its own and, consequently, terrible mood swings. It starts out a tad boring, but I promise it gets better in the end! Enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: There is a lot of inspiration I used for this chapter. That being said, **_**The Chronicles of Riddick franchise, AvP and Bleach**_** DO NOT belong to me! **

**REMINDER: Garreth is an officer on the _Kumary_, along with D'Jai Lya  
**

If I close my eyes, it is as if I can still hear my Ancient Nana's voice and the winding down of her unlimited supply of stories and legends and rhymes and things made up.

Stories about the girl in red, trotting towards the dark forest where the blood wolf waits. Tales of the tricks and games they play, about the great axe that cut the monster's belly and freed the innocents within.

Countless fables about the smart little boy and his baby sister and the crumbs and the witch's lair.

Legends that lie prettily about the monsters in the dark and the heroes that slayed them.

All of these were alive with the power of my Ancient Nana's words. But as I grew up, the stories also grew more intricate, darker perhaps, with happy endings tucked away in the box of so many of my other childish things.

Heroes, I learned, were not always great men, but great monsters.

And monstrous or not, they did not always come back safely from the dark, for the Dark Land often tricked the victor out of his victory. After all – my Nana used to say, crinkling her brow and widening her white washed eyes – it is a place that does not share its inmates lightly.

How well have these words served the unnaturally long years of my life! They have helped lessen the pain of futility that trails behind everyone who flails around in the vastness of Deep Space, deaf, mute and dumb to anything else resembling normality.

But the one story that has trudged its way diligently with me since childhood, been my constant companion in my adulthood and up until this blessed day in which I can still breathe and close my eyes and think of Ancient Nana – her wrinkled brow and withered top and small, dusty voice – is that of toys and boys and death. Even now, the rhymes come unbidden to my mouth, as they did oh, so many years ago:

_The little toy dog is covered with dust,  
But sturdy and stanch he stands;  
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,  
And his musket moulds in his hands.  
Time was when the little toy dog was new,  
And the soldier was passing fair;  
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue  
Kissed them and put them there. _

_"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,  
"And don't you make any noise!"  
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,  
He dreamt of the pretty toys;  
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song  
Awakened our Little Boy Blue---  
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,  
But the little toy friends are true! _

_Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,  
Each in the same old place---  
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,  
The smile of a little face;  
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through  
In the dust of that little chair,  
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,  
Since he kissed them and put them there"_

The story of the Universe is that of boys and their toys and death, I think. Scarcely is ever there a glimmer of life in our wearisome existence. You can live out your entire rack of days and never really contemplate life. It's always the looming shadows of cold, cold death and the angel's sweet treacherous song that catches our imagination, that drives us to folly.

And then to insanity.

And then to mass murder and madness.

Necromongers brought nothing new to the dwindling worlds of men, but for the gruesome spectacle of a twisted death.

Nevertheless, every story has a beginning and every story must end. And it is to that invariable end we draw closer without relent, though others - like this unfortunate child behind the glass, this _sleeping beauty_ - lag behind in wait of the awakening kiss. That is the way _her _story unfolds in her poor little darling head that has yet to come around to the sad reality of absence.

To me, she is like one of the forgotten toys, dusty and moulding, yet ever waiting for the Little Boy Blue to come pick it up again.

Truth be told, we are all waiting for the boy with one foot in the afterlife.

Some more patiently than others.

"Don't touch the glass!" Lya snaps angrily at the female twin, swatting her curious Furyan hand away. It is not the first time and our vigil has been quite long.

Soon the D'Jai's admonitions will be edged with sharp steel. It's a small wonder she lasted up until now without having to break some skin and draw out the sweet Furyan blood. Her patience is diminutive at best.

"I was just looking…thought I saw it fog."

So did I, so did Lya, so did Gwen the Golden Kitty Cat and all of us here that have stood watch over the cryo-crypt these tedious weeks while our Captain and their Lord have traveled the Underverse.

And it's always a trick.

Of the light, of our minds, maybe of our growing impatience.

The glass is crystal clear every damn time. Gwendolen sees to it it stays that way when we're done looking. The cloth lays splayed limply across her lap, a smudge of color on her dark garbs. She unconsciously plays with it, her eyes fogged and her maimed arm a little stiff. She can't get used to the idea we've fixed it for her so she still pretends it hurts when it doesn't.

"You thought wrong. Just like the other hundred times you've done it."

This is as royally unnerved as Gwendolen the Necromonger is capable of being at the moment. Lya backs off with a satisfied smirk and the Furyan girl sports quite the becoming shade of shocked.

Which is understandable.

We are guests on the Furyan mother-ship: three aliens and a crypt surrounded by hundreds of Furyans, from the limber young – few as they are – to the tottering old – white haired, almost like my Ancient Nana's crisp apron, and with gleaming eyes. All of them armed to the teeth and wary of strangers. There is no love wasted between Furyan and Necromonger or otherwise.

Which is also understandable.

The mother-ship that holds in its giant bay the battered _Kumary_ has been forcibly docked and even more forcibly attached to the Wraith Ship _Leander_, under the watchful eye of the _Trinian_, the largest ship of its kind, and that of the silent shadow - the cloaked _Jag'd'ja atoll_. The Great One's clan had come to claim back its little wanderling and since my fair Captain would not hear of going anywhere, back, forth or otherwise without her precious charges, the Furyan issue had to be dealt with sooner than anyone would have expected, much to the Elder's distaste. His Hunters though weren't so picky since game was already scarce in the 'verse. They had yet to take their blades to the color of blood and that in many cycles. Battling for mates or respect or both and quite often neither had lost its appeal and was never in the same league as the thrill of the Hunt to begin with.

With the prey literally in their grasp, but with strict orders under penalty of banishment and dishonor not to touch the rarefied warriors, tensions run high on all the ships huddled together in this part of space dwellers called the Barrens.

"_The years are many, the years are long, but the little toy friends are true…"_

Both the Furyan and the Necromonger eye me with their deep penetrating stares, blue as only the Little Boy might have been.

"It's a story…", I begin placidly, so as not to frighten the twin into running to her more irate brother and stirring up trouble over Lya's flaring temper, "about a Little Boy that kisses his toys before he goes to sleep and bids them to wait for his return. Of course he never wakes up and they're stuck waiting. Loyally."

"Does he die?" the child asks frighteningly.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course…if he doesn't come back, what's the point in waiting?"

Obviously, someone did not come back for her - a mother, or a father, or both - though she kept waiting faithfully for a very long time. It's her brother's words that speak through her voice now, so practical and grown up.

"Hope. That's the point in waiting." It seems Gwen is still smarting over the intrusive ways of the Furyan child.

She holds to the belief that the cryo-crypt is no freak show, but a thing to be beheld in reverence.

"Oh, Kitty Cat, you took the words right out of my mouth! Religious people always get it easier." I try to explain to the flabbergasted girl. "Is there no talk of hope in your religion, little Furyan?"

"There's talk of destiny."

She says this fiercely and I can tell it is the one true thing she believes in.

"Then that should be hope enough for you. It is more than the little toy dog and the little toy soldier ever had."

Apparently my lecturing tone does not sit well with her.

"When my uncle comes, he will tell you a story of the Little Boy Blue that differs much from whatever tale you heard when you were still suckling at your momma's tit!"

A charming little girl indeed. So nice and educated.

"Can hardly wait for it. But last I remember, that particular version didn't end too well for your dear uncle. Or does he leave that part out when he's tucking you into bed?"

The D'Jai chuckles eerily behind my back and the little Furyan child huffs away, with her face redder that it has any business being. I laugh too, thinking that if my Captain were here, she'd smack me a good one and tell me to knock it off, before I get into trouble. I laugh a little longer, just because she's not here now, is she? And trouble will be coming my way, whether I want it to or not.

"What did you mean by that?" Gwen asks in her own quiet way, that let's me know she's really interested in finding out.

"Riddick-lore, Kitty Cat. The worst kind of admiration there is, if you ask me. The Gift of Sight is a cruel joke that has been wasted on a people so blind it's unbelievable. But then again, most people flail around in the blackness searching for their destiny as a general rule. Furyans are no exception, it would seem."

She looks at me questioningly, but I know it in my bones the answer will come to her so painfully clear there will be no doubt in her blonde head. Ever again.

"You seek to hunt these Furyans, but you hold them in contempt. That is something I do not understand."

"When I rip the skin off their skulls, I won't give a rat's ass about what they believe in!" Lya answers sharply.

"Well, that's not entirely true," I once again try to explain to Gwen, while pointing a rude finger at the shamelessly crude D'Jai, "she'll probably pray that they believe in the afterlife so that when she dies she can do it to them all over again."

The D'Jai sneers in the dark and approves of my logic.

"True enough."

Gwen scrunches up her perfect Kitty Cat nose and ponders this for a while, with a childlike look on her womanly face that proves to me yet again why Riddick chose to entrust her with such a precious charge. Well, aside from her blonde hair and pretty blue eyes, that never fails to elicit some sort of sympathy from the Bad Blooded One.

She's cute in a way the children of this age are no longer.

The Necromonger leans against the silent cryo-crypt, in an uncharacteristic gesture of carelessness and sighs to the darkness outside the space we are confined to – a rather small metal island connected to the main entry doors by a narrow pathway.

"But in the darkness, Riddick shines. There is no destiny waiting for him in the great bright."

Truth comes out of the mouth of fools, I have discovered.

"He doesn't light up like a fucking Christmas tree, you know," Lya deems it necessary to remark.

"Do shut up! You don't even know what a Christmas tree is!"

Tsk, she's ruining the moment, really.

"I know it's _bright!_"

"Too bad they can't say the same thing about you!"

"Hey!"

Blood shall flow!

"_Enough!_"

Ah, Papa Bear has finally bothered to pay us a visit. I calm down instantly and put our petty squabble aside for a more fortuitous occasion. One will surely arise in the span of the next five minutes. Or so.

"Was wondering when you'd show up. I have a mind to complain about these appalling accommodations. Is this any way to treat an officer of the Empire?"

He is taller than me, this newly arrived Furyan figure, but then again I don't fit the average mark very well. And still I manage to stare him down.

He hunches.

His entire body, strong as it undoubtedly is, is compressed in such a way he can no longer use height as an advantage. His head is bald, but he does not shave and even under the poor lighting conditions I can tell his scalp is an unnatural shade of deep red. Engorged blood vessels travel to his forehead, making prominent deltas around his gleaming eyes. There is a barely perceptible stiffness to his movements, but his steps are confident and strong as he travels down the ramp.

Walking the straight and narrow, it would seem.

"Sorry for not being properly trained in the necessary etiquette for dealing with issues of the Empire. I have been so long out of commission, I'm sure you'll find it in yourselves to forgive me."

His fluency comes as a bit of a surprise. The Furyans we've encountered so far have only grunted, groaned or said absolutely nothing, with the minor exception of that lovely twin who knows nothing other than asking irritable questions.

"Well, you've never been in the commission of the Empire and you shouldn't trouble yourself over our insides. Lya's are so dense anyway, it's just not worth bothering with looking for our forgiveness anywhere in there."

"Tch. I feel so loved." The above mentioned snaps in the back.

The Furyan shakes his head in amusement, but moves no closer to the island we are confined to.

"Nothing fazes a Wraith of Deep Space. Not even when they are prisoners on a hostile ship. It's an interesting type of courage."

"Not at all. Because, really, that's such a harsh description of our condition. I prefer the loose term of _unwelcome guests_. That will buy you five more minutes of oxygen when our Captain is informed of the situation."

He takes a small step forward, though it is not in fear.

"Do you let your Captain do all the dirty work? Or are you just _unable_ to break free on your own?"

"I am _un_interested," is my quicker-than-Lya's-blades reply. Still they come off.

"I am not."

I am inclined to believe the D'Jai has been tried enough and therefore she should be let loose. Gwendolen just shies further away from the fight, her back always to the crio-crypt. I can hear her sweaty palms gliding protectively over the glass.

But surprisingly, Lya stops and narrows her eyes at the immobile Furyan. I involuntarily twitch. What now?

She grins the grin all the reapers in my stories have struggled to grin and never could.

She straightens her back and puffs out her chest and eats shit through her teeth. Her lips curl up in a snarl and she spits out gold.

"I know you! _Killer of Men_!"

…

Wait, what?

…

"No really, what?"

"Bad with faces as always, Garreth."

"I know who he is, dammit!"

Father figure to the twins, leader of the survivor ship, used to work in the armed forces in the city of Kaina, on Aquila Major, where he met with a younger version of Riddick and a resolute good bye from the same man. He was the actual murderer of the tyrant Guy Pasoft and instigator of the conspiracy that "freed a nation of slaves" as historians are fond of putting it. Riddick was the reluctant participant to the whole ordeal only due to his alleged Furyan origins which he furiously denied at the time. The Aquilan Fable was this man's attempt at building the altruistic felon image his delusional mind had conjured up about the _last Furyan who will fight evil with evil _blah, blah, blah. You know the story.

So it's pretty safe to say_ I know_ the Goddamn idiot!

I turn to him and point at Lya:

"See what your preposterous conditions have done?! She's gone mental!"

"Shut up, you half-assed dick!"

…

"I mean you half-dicked ass! Baldy over here used to be a piece of decoration, didn't ya? Got frosted on the _Kubla-Khan_ and put up for show, until Riddick banged that ship all types of hard. So, tell me," Lya leaned conspiratorially towards him, "was he as good as they say, huh?"

He is silent as the grave, but his eyes go hard as nails. In the end he speaks.

"Why? Your Captain never told you that?"

Lya laughs harshly for a good while before replying to the Furyan's rather undignified question.

"I _tell_ you what. You go ask my Captain that and we'll just sit by and watch who gets the first good look at your guts: your precious Furyan or our little Human?"

The hard glint in his eyes bends by a notch.

"Maybe I just might."

He spins his bulky body around and starts trekking back up to the entry doors. They are left open as the echo of his voice travels to us.

"Come, your Captain is waiting!"

High time for that to happen, indeed.

"I presume he means for us to follow, no?"

"Fuck that!" Lya answers irritably. "Start pushing, Kitty Cat, we're gettin' out of here!"

True to her word, the D'Jai gathered Gwen and the cryo-crypt and sent them moving up the ramp, following my lead. The gravitational field on the crypt the girl is currently preserved in is not as stable as that of the one on the Basilica – probably some cheap rip-off that the Furyans managed to get their hands on through means unknown – but it's better than the stretcher we came on board with. And even dazed as she is, Gwendolen's confident stride, closely followed by Lya's reassuring presence get us safely across the narrow pathway and through the double doors and into a long corridor leading to a sealed opening where the twins – the curious woman-child and her more sullen male counterpart – were waiting for us.

"Oh, an escort! How thoughtful!"

The boy is the first to speak:

"We'll take you to our uncle and the envoy. Wouldn't want you to get lost on the way there…" he eyes Gwendolen hatefully and with a promise of nasty things happening to her if she were to get lost twinkling in his gaze. The Necromonger doesn't flinch, but straightens her rumpled dress instead.

"…so just shut up and stay close!" his sister finishes for him, now that she's feeling a little braver.

There is a distinctive growl coming from Lya, but she settles for a curt:

"Quit yapping and start moving already!"

The children stare at her balefully for a few moments before they proceed to unlock the seal.

"Are we there yet? God, you're slow!"

"Snap it, Lya! All in due time."

It doesn't do to agitate the prey so early in the hunt. Been teaching her this for years, though she never learns.

And I am curious about this envoy person. I'm sure no Deep Space dweller actually bothered to set foot on the Furyan ship. Lou'An doesn't do negotiating. He orders things done and they are done. Therefore, this mysterious new addition to our future list of acquaintances is worth further consideration on my part. I'm positive Lya would not have the patience for this, even if I explained it to her – which I sometimes do – so I keep quiet and follow our brave little scouts through the meandering corridors of the maze-like ship, while trying not to let them realize I already know my way out. After all, it's the same way we came in. But they're being so serious about this, I'd hate it to ruin the fun for them.

We take steep turns following the twins. Their recklessness drives them to great speed but we have a cryo-crypt to drag along the dreary corridors and at one point the inevitable happens: the grav-field shuts down and the crypt clatters to the floor with a great thud.

Gwen screams when the body inside smashes against the cool glass due to the force of the impact. The cover remains intact, but underneath there is a dark sheen of blood forming where the head hit the upper lid.

The children remain paralyzed, frozen to the metal spot, their eyes bright sputtering lights. Gwendolen wails pitifully, wringing her hands over the smeared glass pane, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She looks to us for help, but the only thing she gets for her oceans of tears is a crouching Lya who, very calmly, lifts the crypt and tilts the body back into its original position, limbs all askew.

In the back, the twins suck up all the oxygen in the air and hold it in until Lya, ever so unaffected-like, releases the crypt and stands up. They breathe out a hurricane, naturally, which leaves them shaky and scared, all the pump and haughtiness evacuated through their nostrils till nothing but a child's panic in the face of death remains.

Gwen starts hiccupping.

"The blood is not ashen yet, but it coagulated fast."

"It still flowed."

"Could be the cryo."

"We moved her twice. There's no sign of decay. Body is still pliable."

Gwen sniffles wetly, trying to rub the bloody smear off with her sleeve.

"Leave it, Kitty Cat. It's on the inside."

Stating the obvious snaps her back to her full height. She wobbles a little, unsure what to do next. Instead, she lets out a tiny hiccup that shakes her entire frame.

I am gentle when I speak:

"Step back and follow our lead. The boy over there is going to take the front with Lya while I cover the back with the dear darling sitting at his right."

Gwen visibly tenses down, but her eyes are overly large and watery on her small, rigid face, which gives her a rather disturbing look. She is still jumping slightly from the spasms, but otherwise she's compliant and over the initial crisis.

I am satisfied with my assessment, so I move on to the other three in our reluctant party, only to find them ready to start again. The children seem wary of picking up the cryo-crypt but no one complains.

"Ready?" the boy asks, his voice a little steadier now that – because he's in the front, taking the lead – he can't really see what's behind the glass pane, though he can feel the body jolting when we heave the crypt up.

We move slower this time, with Lya even being gracious enough to match her wide stride to the much reduced one of the little Furyan. As for my part, I discreetly hoist more of the weight of the crypt to my side, since my weight-carrying partner is slighter of built and a tad smaller. Gwen shuffles obediently behind us, her tight leather garbs making a pleasant sound against our heaving breaths and the humming of the ship.

Even as we journey on a space vessel not much unlike any other space vessel I've ever traveled in, I find myself missing the _Kumary._ Missing the dulcet sounds of my Ethel and Gerta, the only twin engines ever to equip a Wraith Vessel.

It is the single sound that resonates aboard our ship. The Cryogenic Sleep System is turned off most of the times, since Captain has an intense dislike for it, lights are dimmed because Yautja spacecrafts have no use for illumination in the first place and the nav comps are muted to a dull hum on account of the D'Jai's hearing sensitivity – like dogs, certain frequencies piss her off and that's why she's such a bitch half the time she opens her mouth.

It's silent and warm on our ship. Dark like in my mama's womb, as the little girl at my side would probably say. Dark like the fierce warrior goddess after which this great ship was named, the twelve-armed, three-eyed wife of the terrifying God of Destruction and Restoration.

The Great One named it so – the _Kumary Durg'an Shiv_ – when he commissioned it to Scar Back. He is really a most wise one, this elusive Yautja Elder. His ways are fiercely baffling – being of the unknown kind – but the long centuries in which he has been alive and hunting the 'verse serve him well when dealing with queer alien species, like this young one dying in a glass box.

I glance down at the cold body behind the glass, swaying in a disentangled heap of arms and legs and shiny black hair.

He could have saved you, sweet one, some will inevitably say.

He could have stepped down from the shadows and pluck you all away from that terrible flight of monsters.

But he didn't – the proud, ancient Yautja - and most likely never even thought of doing it in the first place.

Instead he left you to your soft-fleshed destiny to die an honorless death upon the thrust of an honorless sword at the end of an honorless life.

He took what he wanted and you were not it. Hm.

How sad that…

"…Yours is a tragic destiny, sweetling…"

"Talking to the dead now, Garreth?"

"Always wanted to do that."

Pity that they don't always answer back.

"You're morbid."

"And you're way out of your usual vocabulary range. See, miracles _do_ happen."

"Bastard…" Lya turns to sneer at me, unaware of the imminent danger.

"Careful! Watch your…"

Bang.

"Aww! C'jit!"

"…head."

Because, of course, it's only in the D'Jai's nature to get distracted enough to bang her otherwise resilient skull against anything that has the indignity of being smaller than the tall idiot. In this case, the conspicuously narrow hole in the wall that serves as a service entryway.

"We're here." The Furyan boy announces with the enthusiasm of a cronically unenthusiastic person.

Here isn't much of a location as it is the obvious dead end of our little trek on the Furyan mother-ship. There are no turns left to take, just an obscure bolted door no different from thousands of others of its kind. The twins make a spectacle out of opening it, but the wheeled lock is old and creaks in ways that if you are not careful could make Lya-of-the-sensitive-ears fire her plasma canon (the modified, carrier-friendly, low discharge, fast refill KGSY-3588225 version) just to make it stop.

They were not careful.

The blast took the kids, the door and half the wall by surprise. The latter didn't take it very well, if the pile of smoldering debris was any indication. Whatever was on the other side of the obliterated obstacle was making its presence noted through rough coughing and laborious breathing, while on our side, the twins were nurturing an aching head and a rather nasty ringing in their ears. Gwen was a little shaken, but otherwise unperturbed. I should image that after Deep Space brought Hell on the Basilica, she will never have to even blink in front of a small nuclear discharge in close quarters.

"I thought you said they were unarmed!" someone struggled underneath a large piece of corroded metal.

"Fuck'f I now what unarmed means anymore! I fuckin' checked them!" an equally strangled voice answered from underneath a tad larger piece of corroded metal.

"They were armed."

The Killer of Men put both voices to silence as he carried himself into the smoky quarter with the satisfaction of one who had expected worse and just seen his expectations fulfilled. We hate to disappoint.

"As they have been from the very beginning."

Something white glimmered behind him, billowing softly in the rising smoke.

"Where is our Captain?" Lya snarls behind gritted teeth and a pointed gun. She's not one for waving dangerous weapons around aimlessly. After all, pointing makes a bigger bang.

"Obviously not here."

I chance a glare at the dizzy twins but my reprimand is lost what with the incessant ringing and the eye burn that will surely inflict itself on the youthful little mammals. Every gift has its drawbacks I suppose.

"Your leader has summoned us to the _Wraith Ship Leander_." He says it like he has rehearsed the title many times over in his head so that it would sound reasonably right when he'd speak it out loud. It did the trick, but the effect is lost somewhere in the translation of the message he was trying to convey.

"Lou'An is not our leader!" Lya declares with the confidence of someone who is sleeping with the man and therefore knows better.

"I'm sure he's not." The Furyan concedes. "But I am talking about the Great One, Chief Hunter of a clan whose name I can't pronounce."

I say…that's a rather…._shocking_...revelation.

It doesn't seem to faze the D'Jai of course.

"Well, he's not the leader either. His mate is."

"An admirable specimen." I pipe in for good measure. Tall, gray and sporting a type of ugliness only Yautja females can pull off and still spawn an innumerable litter of pups. "You should try her cookies."

Made from the roasted skin of various bipedal animals. Quite the delicacy in Deep Space, though a little tough to chew.

Mr. KOM (Killer of Men is getting hard on the ol' tongue, don't you think?) is taken aback for a while, but he brushes it off and retraces his steps from whence he came.

"Follow me."

Gwendolen trudges obediently behind us, like a stout little soldier, somewhat dusty from the long wait, but wearisome nonetheless. When we reach whatever it is we must reach before blowing up another door and have ourselves another fight, the aggravating journey comes to a miraculous halt.

I'm sure that right now, in this very cosmic second, somewhere in this vast 'verse, on some planet or another - take your pick, it makes no difference - it must be a glorious day, sunny and fresh and inviting. It all stops being glorious, of course, when you take the first step outside the warmth of your comfort zone, slip over a threshold and close another ominous door behind you, only to find yourself starkly under-dressed for the biting air, chilly winds and toothy sun, which turns out to be nothing more than a stage prop dangling precariously against a bristling blue sheet that has indeed seen better days and more efficient detergent.

Such was the feeling that crept upon us with the slither of an on-going one track speedster – which is none to subtle at all – when we left the designated air space of the Furyan Colonial Ship – written in fading red letters against a dented hull – and set foot on the _Leander._ But there was no sun here and no light propagated by any natural born star I've ever heard of. This is a Yautja vessel after all. Everything is wires and chemical reactions which glow in the perpetual gloom with a brilliant green sheen, offsetting the polished black luster of all available and partly reachable surfaces.

"We're in deep shit now…" Lya wheezes out. We've never seen the inside of Mirko Rotten Tusk's ship before and now we wish we had done something about it.

"No. We're just back in Deep Space. Remember your orders."

The D'Jai looks meaningfully at the crypt that bears no secret meaning – at least not to us – and then at the Necromonger who – in her own frightened way – is also following orders.

"Listen!"

Kitty Cat is mad with an all-encompassing fear. Her teeth scrap wildly at the bottom lip until a trickle of blood slips between the porcelain whites unto her perfectly chiseled chin. In the dark, it looks darker still. A drop plunges from an impressive height and spills itself in a crystalline shape over the glass pane of the crypt. A blooded snowflake forms wearily then crusts and crumbles. There is still something prowling in the shadows, beyond coherence and comprehension. Kitty Cat shivers.

"Listen!"

But it's only Lya giving her a vigorous shake.

"Look on the writings on the wall! Look at them! _M-di H'dlak_! No Fear!"

It also says _M-di H'chak_.

No Mercy.

But I suppose Lya's half-truth is better than a cruel half-lie.

Gently, the D'Jai encourages Gwendolen to harness her overwhelming need to get. out. of . here.

"This is no way to present yourself in front your Lord and Master after his hailed return from the Underverse. Keep it together, woman! You have a duty to fulfill!"

And Lya points at Jack's glassy enclosure. That seems to do the trick, as Gwen reigns in the shivering and licks her lips dry of blood.

Jack sleeps unperturbed and I am left wondering why is there a voice in my head chanting the child's name with an awakened vigor. This is the name that only the Captain sometimes whispers when she thinks we don't pay attention and she is right but chance would have it otherwise.

Sometimes Lya errs and speaks it also, but she rectifies it with a soft expletive: _that little girl._

For me she has always been the child, lost and found and gone to sleep. But now _Jack_ is making a ruckus in my head, demanding attention with the voice of a thousand souls.

I look at KOM and the moment is gone.

"Is that really what is says on the wall?" His eyes are brimmed with curiosity.

"Of course!" I am slightly indignant. "That over there is the _Kehrite_, the battle hall. I suppose they have gathered there to greet us."

"They expect us to do battle then?"

"Quite frankly, they'll expect you to sit and watch the legend unfold."

He laughs quietly and somewhat woefully.

"The legend, eh? Is that your version of a foretelling?"

"No, that's my version of a story."

The _Kehrite_ opens to its visitors in silent swings. The blackness has pooled beneath our feet, for the ramp is high and the centre of the ship is hollow. Although there is ample space for us to cross to the main platform, the stillness of the void below is unbalancing. Ahead, a circle of tall beings, with masked faces and weapons so shiny they cut from a distance, breaks to allow us entrance: a _Pyode Amedha_ warrior, a _D'Jai_ blade wielder, a _Kainde-Thei_, one of the race that is hard to kill, a lonesome _Eta_ and a little one that dances with the fallen gods.

There is a gasp and a tight whimper, for in the centre of it all, stands Scar Back, her eyes ablaze in the dimmed lights, her vision trained on the crypt we might have dropped a little too forcibly on the cold metal floor. My Captain, so beautiful and fair, is radiating a sort of energy that is nothing short of divine. By her side, the Bad Blooded One shines in the darkness with unbridled power. You can see pleasure unfurling in his body, like a tightly coiled dragon summoned from a long-lasting slumber.

The pleasure of combat.

Riddick is a lustful man.

So are many things that dwell in the blackness. But he has the power to reach out and take what he wants. This time it might be a little harder to get.

"Mmh. I like the way you keep things…interesting."

Something answers him from behind. Something gray and bipedal. Some horror.

It's not cold enough anymore for me to shiver. The centre of the vessel is heavy with a dull type of heat.

Oppressive, actually. Good for spawning and mating and fucking. Good for setting your mind on fire. You start to see things and hear things with a confusing clarity. Time slows down to a trot. Reality seems to unfold in slow motion.

And then you snap out of it at the clang of a weapon slashing for another and reality is still unfolding in slow motion because nothing as big and sluggish as these Yautja beasts could move so fast or gracefully. The human brain is highly adaptable and what it would appear to be a trick of the light is a mere mechanism of comprehension.

That is why, if you want to survive in Deep Space, all human instincts must be eliminated ruthlessly, skinned down one by one, until all that is left is the bare animal millions of years of evolution have chained and tamed.

The you of b.c.

Before civilization, that great catastrophe.

And once you've done that, it's only a matter of honing the animal instincts through countless acts of barbaric savagery and you're good to go.

Then and only then, will you be able to understand that the monstrous laughter that emanated from the sharp mandibles of the Great Yautja Elder was no outer display of an inner amusement of some twisted kind and that such a laughter fitted better somewhere in slaughter than any other conceivable concept intelligent beings of this 'verse can conjure.

Lou'An, on the other hand, still maintains an easily removable crust of civility that he dons when the occasion presents itself. It's usually quite a desperate measure, but sometimes he does find some amusement in doing so.

"Ah, there you are. Has your stay aboard the Furyan Colonial – is that the correct term for it? Yes, I see, indeed – Ship been satisfactory?"

He addresses this to Lya, because he might actually care if she is spoilt in any way.

"I wouldn't know about that, but it's sure been long!"

_Long enough for you to wish you sucked, dick-head!_

Lya takes things quite literally at times.

"We took our time. I don't do pressure."

The Captain whips around to throw a cold, hard stare in Riddick's direction, but he's on a whole new different mode now. I should think that for this man everybody bleeds the same, but he'd be willing to test that theory out.

"Milord, I did as you commanded, I never left her side, but the others…" Gwen sees nothing but the towering figure of Riddick. It helps with the fear.

"Died upon our blades."

Riddick spies an elegantly braided mesh of hair looped around my belt with his all-seeing eyes and looks forlorn for a second as he takes in the whiff of scent it still exudes. I look him dead in the eye and whisper:

"My kill."

"Fair enough. What about that big extinct thing next to you?"

"Well, for starters, it ain't."

The first words my Captain has uttered since our arrival are laced with hot, burning acid.

"Then again, neither are you, Miss Carolyn Fry, Second Class Docking Pilot on the Merchant Vessel _Hunter Gratzner._"

Before either the Captain or Riddick came up with a reply – as they were both itching to do – Lou'An very patiently explained that:

"Miss Fry died on an M-class planet not far from the Borderline, I can assure you that, I was there. What you see here, is something completely different."

That stuns both Furyans into silence.

Yes, I know, Lou'An is good.

"_Scar Back!_" the Great One gurgles. "_Radha!_"

There is no further debate on the matter. Calling a warrior by its name is a powerful statement, calling the warrior by its name given in the _Mesh'in'ga_, the battle dreamtime, by the Honorable Mothers of the Clan is an immovable truth. That name had not been spoken in over three standard years, not since the time Scar Back was summoned to her Clan's mother-ship for the ritual ceremony of child bearing, an awfully important event in the Yautja time frame.

As a newly blooded warrior, she had access to the entire manifestation, a glorious display of chanting, roaring and the occasional congratulatory fighting match.

As a female _Wraith Squad_ leader, she was even allowed to touch the Bearing One, a great honor in which she indulged, soothingly – mainly because the poor female was deep in the throws of pain, while everyone around her were gravitating towards an ineffable, yet compact mass of flaring testosterone.

The Yautja miraculously delivered twin pups.

That is to say, not a normal occurrence in the every day happenings of the Yautja world.

Scar Back's touch was considered a blessing, so the Honorable Mothers sanctified her gift by giving her a new name of power. I'm pretty sure it means _Goddess_ of some sort.

It was that name that silenced the roaring banter now. It has an almost enchanting power.

"Aren't you going to ask about this child?"

Mr. KOM asked Riddick.

"She means something to you."

But Riddick was busy staring hard at Lou'An, as if a darkening veil had been lifted from his eyes.

"She was all I had left," is his final answer.

"_Was?_" Lou'An questioned, quirking a perfectly black eyebrow over a perfectly green eye.

"So she is dead, after all." KOM concluded with a misplaced sense of satisfaction.

"Sleeping. Only that. She will awaken. As promised by the ou…_my _Lord! "

Gwendolen's passion is something fierce to behold. No delusion could be more enthralling.

"That's not what he meant."

Captain's words are mostly for the Great One to hear.

"I…_entrusted_ him with her. My life for their survival. But in the end, it was my life for his survival. And though he may not show it, he has honor. He has a code. There are no debts between us. He protected her as best as he could. He never said good-bye. Because if he had…it would have been forever."

Riddick isn't looking at her. He can't. Some things a man has got to keep to himself. And it was always my belief that Carolyn, Scar Back, Radha, Captain of The Kumary, call her whatever you like, sees too much as it is. If such thing as an inner vision exists, an almost instant comprehension that stems from a predestined, foretold, under-told or just plain didn't-see-that-coming alignment of souls, then this tiny little morsel of humanity standing in the middle of the most inhuman creatures that have ever populated the 'verse has it in spades.

My Captain cannot see in the dark. She's partly blind under the light of the sun too. She's the worst judge of character I've ever met, which is why she's got so many scars, some made by monsters whose dirty faces she knew all too well. But she reads Riddick like she was born knowing it. Or, to be more accurate, died knowing it.

Behind the glass, Jack sleeps the sleep of ignorance. Admiration is the furthest thing from understanding there is.

It is not a fault.

It is a trap.

One that closes swiftly and without appeal over its unsuspecting prey.

It does not hurt.

And you could live a long life without feeling its steely teeth digging for the bone.

But when the illusion shatters and the bone snaps, then the pain comes with a vengeance and something within us breaks irreparably.

It is in that weakened state that the dark thought slowly builds up, an ocean of despair contained in a fragile casing. It seeps through the brain and before you know it, the bitter taste of acid and blood is your permanent companion. Your only companion.

"You are lucky, Jack." I intimate to the crypt. "At least _you_ are not alone. There are people here who remember you. And as long as they remember you, you are not really gone. Not really lost. Come back now."

I never say before it's too late, but maybe I should have. Things are heating up again. Starting with Mr. KOM.

"Then if you believe that it is your destiny to save her, come with us! Return to Furya! She will be resurrected, along with the voices of our loved ones!"

"Your loved ones are dead. They are not coming back." Carolyn says softly.

"It is destiny!"

"It is a small word."

"But it has power…"

"People have power. People who are alive. The dead only use as much power as we give them. And you have lived a long time in the shadow of the dead. Life is for the living, you know. What happened on Furya was a tragedy. The end for a noble race of warriors? Not so much. But it will not begin again through the power of those who are gone, but by the power of those who are still here. And they get to choose if that is what they want to do or not. They get to pick a side. And it has nothing to do with destiny. People make their own destiny, not the powers of the Universe, not the calculations of Elementals, not the weeping souls of slaughtered children. This is the truth I've learned. This is the miracle I bring from the Underverse. Whether Jack lives or dies is up to her now. And you have to let the dead go. Let them have their rest. Believe me when I tell you…they are tired."

"The dead should stay dead." Riddick finishes for her.

"_Hma'mi'de!_" the Elder croaks.

"Amen to you too, brother," says an amused and slightly more dangerous Riddick.

Mr. KOM shakes his head with overwhelming sadness.

"You have no faith…."

"I have something better. It's called knowledge."

"So be it. People make their own choices. If that's the case, then I choose to do…"

"_**THIS!**_"

To his credit, Mr. KOM moved with incredible speed, too fast for any of us who stood close to see the long dagger before he smashed into the glass pane and straight through Jack's shoulder. _That _was probably a miscalculation due to the distorting angle of the glass and not because Jack moved her head at the last possible moment.

Of course, we were wrong.

And we found that out when it became obvious that the shrill cries were coming from the body in the crypt and not from Gwendolen who was staring dumbfounded at the entire ordeal. KOM was quickly disarmed and immobilized by one of the younger warriors, with a prominent scar mark on his helmet. A newly blooded male from Scar Back's clan he was and a loyal one at that. He had his first hunt under Scar Back's lead, I remember that well. It was to that loyalty that Mister Killer of Men and Defenseless Children owed his life.

Or perhaps not.

Riddick cocked his head and Scar snapped the Furyan's neck, letting his body drop lifelessly to the floor. He collected no trophy.

Carolyn rushed past us and slapped Lya's inquiring hands away from Jack. The D'Jai had already removed the dagger and the Captain assessed that the wound was shallow.

"Jack, Jack…wake up! Come on, honey, wake up!"

The child twisted and moaned, but the wound bled profusely, turning the crypt into a small blood bath.

"We gotta get her outta here!"

Gwendolen stepped in, with the grace only a tall, blonde woman could possess and lifted Jack's body effortlessly.

To be perfectly honest, the Captain did give her a rather scathing look that seemed a lot like jealousy if you squinted real hard. Riddick simply chuckled darkly from behind.

"That's my girl," leaving us to inquire ourselves if he meant Jack and her awakening, Gwen and her tallness or Carolyn and her possessiveness. Probably all of them, at any rate.

"Go with her to the med station. Shalimar should be there. Tell anyone you meet, Scar Back claims right of first blood over them…both! Now go!"

Lya nodded curtly and ushered Gwen and Jack past towering Yautja and over the ramp.

When the doors closed behind them, Captain turned to me and asked:

"Any more surprises?"

"A few."

After all, there was that envoy that never made an appearance, but I couldn't very well tell the Captain that. It was incomplete information. I pride myself with my accuracy.

Behind us, the Yautja stirred collectively, bringing out the sound of their weapons coming to life. It was a mere murmur at first, but it grew to a loud rhythmic clatter of steel scrapping against steel. But it's not steel, not really. The metal is unknown to the worlds outside the realm of the Empire. The alloy forged from it is a viciously guarded secret among the society of Weapon Masters. Perfectly balanced, it emits a sound that no other blade in the 'verse is capable of giving off.

The Pure Sound of the Pure Win.

_Nain-desintje-de._

They are chanting this, saying it as a _Kantra_, a prayer.

A battle is about to start.

The Great One stands again and the chanting is reduced to a dull roar. He looks at Riddick with his beady eyes, perfectly round and perfectly black, then at Lou'An, who is ready to do his master's biding in a completely dignified fashion. The Elder speaks his high pitched language and Lou'An translates for the Bad Blood to understand.

"_Cetanu has granted me my miracle. Cetanu has spared me wisdom. Cetanu has said: learn the gift of all sights! And I have learned! And I have seen. And I say there is claim no more!_"

The Hunters raged in unison by beating their plated chests. Scar picked up the body of the Killer of Men and threw him into the abyss as you would toss a rag into the wind. It was done and settled now.

"_But our fight has not reached its end. There are still more things to teach the younglings! I can speak, but words do not reach you!_" he stretched his long fingered hands to point at all present in the _Kehrite_, be they human, Yautja or otherwise. He lingered particularly long on Tyl, the restless one in his bloodline and heir to his chieftainship. There was strong tension between the two Yautja and had been ever since Tyl's first True Hunt had turned into the Birth of Scar Back, Wraith of Deep Space.

"_So I will show you instead. As you two have settled your scores, now we must settle our scores with you._"

"There is nothing to settle. I have been loyal to my clan!"

Captain stepped in front of Riddick like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way she shielded him from the Elder was not lost on the Great One.

"_Even when you withheld his location from our Hunters? He is your charge, I let that pass. You have hunted more in five cycles than any of my Hunters in ten times as much. You are the pride of my Clan!_"

The withered flesh of his finger touched the mark on Scar Back's forehead, the ancient symbol for the Great One's Clan, almost lovingly, a feeling almost frightening to sense in one so old.

"_But he…he owes us a fight. One hunt. He knows this well. He has known this since you first made yourself known to him again on the Eta ship. His battles in the Sacred Place have only prepared him for this one moment, when he has the chance to set his world to rights. I will say no more on this, Radha, it has been settled._"

The endearment did not help to calm my Captain down.

Her extended blades are quivering.

It's actually Riddick who puts a stopper on that. His hand must feel reassuring on her shoulder, though I'll never know.

"No point in hiding, Carolyn. These bad boys want to fight, so I'll give them a fight."

"They don't really know who they're fucking with, right?" Captain smiles back at him a little shakily.

"And nothing is ever as fun as fucking, now isn't it?"

"With, Riddick, fucking with."

Riddick just grins at her wolfishly and says to the Great One.

"I'm game if you're game. But at the end of the fight, I'm walking outta here with the woman and the kid in tow. The rest, you can keep. Take them as a gift."

"_Your challenge will be met. Reclaim your honor in this blooded 'verse and I shall give you freedom no Ooman can offer! _"

To his Hunters he simply said:

"_Stand up and strike this Bad Blood and I shall make you Chieftain of this Great Clan!_"

Dozens of Yautja drew their weapons against each other and soon a fight for the right to meet Riddick in combat erupted all around us. The Great One merely sat down with a satisfied flicker of his mandibles and watched as his warriors teared each other to pieces over a single Bad Blood.

Tyl's spear ripped through the body of one of his own hunting partners and blood brothers while another Yautja seared the head right off the shoulders of his younger companion.

Dead bodies fell in heaps from the ramp, until among the remaining survivors Tyl was nominated victor, though Scar had put up quite a fight.

The bulky warrior approached his Elder and demanded the right earned through blood, green and thick and sticking to his flesh like a myriad of swamp leeches.

The Great One widened his mouth contentedly and pointed at the two warriors, his own bloodline and Scar Back's charge, while ordering Lou'An in the flickering tongue of the Yautja:

"_Clear the __**Kehrite**__. Let the_ _**Dtai'k-dte**__ begin!_"

Fight!

Fight to the Death!


	32. Chapter 32 Battle Dream

**A/N: There's no apology for the long delay in updating, even if you count real life. Thanks to all the people who kept waiting and prodding me to write this already (you know who you are, thanks guys). Also, a big shout out to all the readers who added this story on their lists. Rest assured, I AM going to finish it. Promise!**

**DISCLAIMER: David Twohy is the God of this particular universe. I'm just a meddling angel.**

**WARNING: Rated M, for violence and gore and some serious sexual implications (cookies of you spot them ;) )**

"I used to dream about you."

"Wha'?"

She's tending to my wrist binds with knotty fingers. They feel like jagged bones against my skin.

"Yeah…Mostly about what would've happen' if I'd hauled your ass aboard that damn skiff…" all bloodied and torn, trapped in God's great pissing machine, her pulse beating ferociously against my lips…

"Where you jacking off on some bawdy non-con roll through the wire-stack fantasy shit? Somehow?"

She scraps the skin of my wrist halfway through her sentence and it chafes like a _motha'fuck_….

"I also dreamt I pushed that shiv so hard through your neck it lodged in the mud. On the other side. Made the rain look all sorts of interesting."

"Kinky. Good thing I skipped my psych classes or you'd be in all kinds of trouble, if I – you know – tried to figure out how sick that just sounded."

She looks up at me before moving to my other hand and flashes a bright smile. I fuckin' hate that brightness. Makes her look uncivilized. Makes me look tame.

Shit drives me homicidal. I think she does it on purpose. But there's this point I wanna drive home. Been bugging me all along.

"But for all the times I've dreamt about you, I could never say your name. Out loud, I mean. I'd scream myself raw, and it would never come out. Just the silence. And the darkness. Couldn't even see your face proper. Not many things I can't see in the dark. "

"I wasn't in the dark. I was in your head. A place filled with fucking bright ideas."

She snorted that out, but this time her eyes stay focused on my left hand, careful not to leave some weak spot unbounded.

"…plus, your stupid ass can't see colors…"

She's fussing really, that leather ain't gonna get much tighter, unless I'm using it on her.

Her palms turn sweaty-cold and clammy, Carolyn-body-talk for playing chicken.

Can't let it slide though.

Jaw-jacking makes me feel warm in so many cold places.

"If you were this dedicated to bondage, I'd be a happy man."

Yeah, nothing beats that fuzzy feeling of crawling up someone's skin.

She pulls hard on the moleskin and effectively cuts blood flow for 'bout a second or such, after which she stares me down – shrunken as she is – with her baby blues, knowing too well I can't see their true color. They say insanity makes you stronger. True e'nuff. Carolyn's looks could fucking disembowel lesser men.

"If you were this dedicated to fucking that guy up there dead" – and she points across the arena, at the mean-lean-ugly-killing-machine getting prepped up for some good ol' fashion thumpin' – "I'd be a happy woman – build myself a little Riddick shrine, get your name tattooed like, on my ass or something. Now, Riddick, don't you wanna make me happy?"

Good question. But the way she said it triggers something in me – a memory beaten into my mind and beaten into my body - that I'm never quite ready to face. 'Cause her voice right now is not Carolyn's Goody-Goody Captain voice, it's not even her remorseful squeak, it's not brittle-water-soggy Carolyn and definitely not shut-your-fucking-blowhole bitchy Carolyn. This is the voice of I've-got-you Carolyn, that I can hear close to my ear, because she's here, dragging my dead weight in the dark, slippery and wet, but strong, so very strong, wrapped around me like a second skin. I'm here, in the rain, in the bleeding rain - rain that bleeds her blood as she's yanked away from me and I lose my footing. No scream, no cry, no final words, just…blackness. My vision fails.

But now I'm back, with a cold realization bouncing off Carolyn's steely eyes. Snakes shed skin, but mine was taken away from me the moment her fingers slipped from mine, leaving me alone and lost in the dark, for the first time since I was born. She'd gone and committed her greatest crime against me. Her sacrifice, fuck that…she killed me. Richard B. Riddick the Murderer, the Escaped Convict, died on that planet, I told the kid the honest truth. That's why it was so easy for her, for Kyra, to get to me, to cut me up, with her fake shivs and her fake words and her fake attitude. So easy for every other player in the 'verse to embroil me in their sleazy trickerations: put a crown on my head and an army in my hand. The world on my shoulders, while I, for the longest time, had been standing naked in the rain, no walls to fall back on, too weak, too tired, too spent. All too fucking human.

And that's when the dreams came. The woman, with her sour songs of Furya. Of home. Of things I needed to do and people I needed to help. My own kind. I had heard the songs before, but from Carolyn's cold sopping lips they had sounded like a plea. Return to the human race. And I'd listened to her. Sure, I'd made her pay for it, but I did what she asked. Turn tail and save some souls. Fight somebody else's fight.

Figures. I failed. Damn well doesn't look like it, but I know it. My crown's shattered and _my followers _are decorating Hunter belts. My people've got death on the brain and _my friends_? No such word as that 'cause they're dead, dying or can't make up their minds. And Carolyn? The blazing red scar on her forehead is all the answer I need. Yeah, _I_ damned their souls to all types of hell, some more literal than others. And now the woman wants me to make her happy? People should know better than to expect things from me.

"Truthfully? Not sure _what_ I wanna do to you right now."

She smirks, I smirk and I know it's all for show. Soul-searching ain't our style. We're _angsty _motherfucking _beasts._

"Yeah, well, could we figure that out later? Right now, let's focus your testicular fortitude on winning this fight, ok?"

"Got doubts?"

She starts shooting razor blades through her nose and grinds her teeth at me. She's standing so close now, our bad breaths mingle.

"If you fucking disgrace me, you'll be having shit popping out of your polished skull. Now, ask me that again."

Good pep talk. Must remember that an angry Carolyn is a focused Carolyn. Her single-mindedness is psychotic at best. And there's some weird code going on here that'll drive her against me faster that the heavy beast across the room on the off chance I get sloppy around these big, bad boys. Not an assumption I'd forgive any other day, but I've got to respect that and maybe one day I'll introduce her to my code. The revised edition. Maybe even give the woman a demonstration, show her something useful, before I get a better idea.

Speaking of which…I spare a glance towards the alien side of the room. Something caught my eye earlier. Yep, there it is and still looking sharp. Like that. Means I can stick it in all sorts of interesting places.

"You eyeing the axe down by the throne?" Her breath's evened out now, less raunchy, her fingers twitching idly by her side.

But she's right. It's way down, wedged between a blaze of spears, a smirking sun shinning dully at the joint of three thick blades.

"Double-headed polearm, butters everything up. There's nothing it can't cut through. If you can get to it."

Least of my problems. Those spears around it don't look nearly dull enough.

"Till's definitely gonna have one like it. Pride of the clan and shit. Cheating bastard's gonna keep it on cloak, though, watch out for that."

I look back at her in disbelief.

"You worried about me? I'm touched."

Her nails suddenly bite into my arms. She's going feral on me, barking out words like she's delivering sentences from God. Hell, right about now, _He_ could take some pointers.

"Now you listen to me! Yeah, you _and_ your big fucking ego! Never make the same move twice, he'll pick up on it and shove it in your overly sized ass! This isn't a hunt! You get no breathing time! You get no living time! You're either king of the kill or topping the bone hill below! And no fucking promises. Just get your balls in the right place and smash his skull in!"

That's the second time she's used a genitalia reference on me by now. If her dreams are anything like mine were – and still damn are – I might be calling time out and have her grant me a last wish. After all, she begs so nicely.

But I don't. I'm a considerate bastard like that. Plus, with Carolyn it's like stocking up on sex debts. Payback will never be as sweet.

"So no fuckups."

"No fuckups. Now, _anyone not ready for this?_"

She's funny. But I sound so much better when I do that. Once her nails dislodge themselves from the flesh of my arms – bloody and sexy all in one tight little blond package – she folds her arms and steels her face and I know I'm not getting _anything_ outta her anytime soon. She tilts her head and I want to remember the fall of her hair, better to know next time where to curl my fist in. A quick _Come on, get on with it_ cluck of the tongue and she ghosts off, leaving only a small ripple in the air where she's still standing.

I stalk off then, heading towards the center of the arena. Good, spotlight's dim tonight. Goggles come off. It's a challenge. _Dreads _takes it up nonetheless and pulls the wires on his mask, slowly, methodically, his movements precise, despite the impression of sluggishness his bulky appearance gives off.

Goddamn, he's ugly. But he's got a good strong look in his eyes. Keepin' it real. Keepin' it interesting.

"Remember, Riddick. Only one animal gets off the ground."

But I don't hear her, not really. This is battle mode time. Just me and Dreads and the hurt he's got comin'. I ease my way a little to the right, testing the ground, pushing the boundaries of his comfort zone. Beast got none. Unless we're talking insides of my skull. But he's cautious too, I'm nothing more than a blurb of color against a splotchy background. I reek, though. Dogs pick up on it pretty fast, they know who's top of the litter, but I doubt he's gonna let me scratch his belly. No, I have the smell of hunt on me – and blood and gore and I think a little bit of Carolyn's vomit.

He roars and I can feel it in my bones.

His scaly muscles flex and barbed arm blades slide off, barely missing my outer eye. Instinctively, I sprung back, arms splayed for balance, claws poised to strike, but Dreads pulled away just as I was about to slice half his hand away. This doesn't make me happy, fucker getting the first blow rights and shit. I know he didn't move that much, but the blades extend more than Carolyn's do.

His arm reach is longer too, his strength bearing down on me, fast and furious, until one of my saber claws gets trapped between the blades. The claw snaps like tin foil, but I twist and wedge the jagged handle in his pauldron.

The move costs me a heavy punch in the ribs and a dislocated shoulder. Dreads backs off as I bend my shoulder back into shape. He grunts and pulls out the handle, a hail of blood trickling down to his claw tipped fingers.

Bastard sure can count his ribs right, 'cause I'm spitting blood through clenched teeth. The sound of my broken saber claw hitting cold metal floor has me on my feet, trying to pull a back slash on Dreads, our blades clashing against each-other with a sharp cry.

Dreads looses the broken pauldron and flings it at me. I parry it open handedly and dodge a mean punch just in time to score on an opening and slice off a toothy mandible. Rage quickens his blades and they slash at my mid-section, through leather and skin, twin trails of fire and blood and pain in their wake. Barely felt the touch, but the poison of torn flesh rips a cry from my lips.

I stumble, Dreads falls.

I lean on the saber claw for support, as my other hands clutches desperately at the wounds, trying to keep it together.

Stupid, because the blade tears into the soft meat of my fingers and the leather is barely holding it back.

Against my better judgment, I look down at my wounds and the gashes stare back at me obscenely, two meaty lips eating me from inside out.

Dreads rises, eyes red, blood the color of light. The air ripples in his hand and I know the blades are gone.

In their place, a spear, long and intricate, twirls and points its head at me, super-sharp and ready for the kill. It's slim and curvy and it dances again in Dreads' bulky hands.

In a flash, he is gone and the dancing blade whispers in my ear.

I roll, and crouch and spring and elbow him.

Hard.

My bone crushes, his spear drops.

I catch it as it lands on my foot, balance it just right and sling back at him. It smoothes through his knee, one end in, then out, then he grabs it and breaks it in two before the other end follows through.

If my body wasn't howling in pain – that would have been right between your motherFUCKING BALLS, YOU FUCKING SAV-….

The broken end of his spear finds purchase in my chest, fucker shucked it hard.

Luckily, it's shallow penetration, I slid back on my own blood.

I rip the burning metal out and my back hits the first step of the throne.

My body stretches, I swivel and the wounds grow mouths and scream.

My fist rips through barred spears and wire until my fingers close on the shaft of a grinning sun.

I yank the axe out and leap on my feet.

Blood runs cold now. Brain shuts down. The animal kicks in and with it the pure, base instinct to kill and slaughter the enemy washes through me, wave after wave after wave, until reason is all but drown out.

The axe feels heavy and good in my hands.

I grip it hard, both hands on the handle.

Slice and shred, it whispers to me.

I charge, perhaps recklessly, but you can't fight this beast with logic.

Can't even remember what logic is anymore.

It's just me and him and he's dying, 'cause I need to survive.

I want to survive and I can't do that if this thing stays alive.

That's all the logic I know.

All the logic I've ever know.

Battle logic.

His arm shoots out, closes around my throat, but I got the axe poised above my head.

I swing it down and hack his limbs off, both of them clamoring to the ground.

The back swing follows a moment late, because I want him to see his death reflected in my eyes. It doesn't occur to me he can't. His head falls, screaming, screaming, screaming….

But it's not him, it's me. I can't stop. I dragged him down. And now I crush his skull.

For good measure.

When it's over, the axe goes limp in my hands.

I let it go.

I let it all go and wonder if it's going to rain again.

A beat.

I fall.

I start to, anyway, but I never hit cold bottom.

Carolyn's warm and steady and I'm sleepy and spent.

Bliss.

She's talking to me, low and husky and happy.

"Must've been a helluva dream…"

I kiss her neck and whisper_ Yes…._

**A/N 2: Sorry for the rusty writing, battle scenes are a bitch to write. Hope it wasn't that bad though, but if you have any insight, please feel free to review! Or just say HI!**


	33. Chapter 33 Minutes

**A/N: A heart-felt thanks to all my faithful reviewers and also to those who've read and fav-ed this story! It is much appreciated!**

**As for this chapter, I dedicate it to Eewonna and Ela, whose daily antics inspire me endlessly. Lotsa love!**

**WARNING: Rated M, for possibly disturbing and violent scenes. Proceed with caution!**

**DISCLAIMER: goes to it's rightful owners.**

**Enjoy!**

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* * *

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The chrono on my watch beeps in time with Riddick's monitors, every 120 standard minutes. That's when, invariably, a Pred-med comes in, tweaks the settings, reads the data and leaves. One shift is 3 meds coming in, checking the monitors, reading the data, leaving – in that precise order. Always in 3. The fourth is always constant. Me.

* * *

Minutes, hours, days blur into one another as I wait for Riddick to regain consciousness. He sleeps, probably, like the dead do: unmoving and uncaring. Yet he lives. The breathing wounds across his front are proof of that. They never healed properly and the Yautja never tried that hard either. The scarring is a mark of honour.

In the dark med-station, when the ever-bustling _Leander _quiets down, they take on a bluish sheen. Used to think it was a trick of the light, until it started rippling around him like liquid fire, pooling at the center of his chest, in a vague imprint of a hand. But then again, I have been here too long. Might be starting to imagine things.

In the end, I take it as sign that he's busy somewhere else and settle down for the long wait.

I fear bastard's gonna have me begging again.

* * *

All around me, life on the _Leander_ goes on as it should, Wraiths patrolling, Yautja going about their business, the ship moving sluggishly into Deep Space, as it trails behind it the _Furyan Colonial_ and the Great One's slender cruiser. Lou'An is gone, his green eyes grinning lazily at me in passing. You never really get to miss a guy like him, no more than you miss your own shadow. Mirko is secretly relieved, 'cause having the other Captain on his deck was such a sore ass-fuck. And Lou'An doesn't even swing that way. Now Rottentusk can shag a fag and three bitches in between like some people drink their afternoon tea.

* * *

Preds don't believe in privacy, but for Riddick they put up a screen. Though I can still see Vaako lying down on the next cot, his legs cut short and replaced with bio-prosthetics. The price of flesh, a toll to Alysum. Not the last one he'll pay, I gather, but the new legs are a reminder that he wasn't quite human to begin with.

Yeah, Vaako-boy, karma _is_ a bitch.

Gwendolen is most often than not his silent companion. She doesn't talk, he doesn't acknowledge. She sits straight, on the chair farthest from the bed, moves out of the way when meds come to visit, pulls the cover back up when they're done. She and Vaako never touch. She eats sparsely and drinks with moderation, yet she never falters.

Until the day Vaako breaks.

* * *

Garreth hanged his wife's braided hair from the low ceiling above his cot.

Didn't know why he did it, didn't care either, until the howling started bothering me.

Vaako screamed and screamed.

One name.

Riddick's.

Bastard didn't even stir.

Instead, they had to chain the Commander to the bed.

Shackled up and foaming at the mouth, Vaako looked more alive that ever – a rosy colour to his cheeks, a wild shine to his eyes.

Finally, Gwen stood up and left. She didn't spare him a second glance but he followed her outside the quarters. She never looked back. Not once.

* * *

Gwen comes to me and the all out awkward fest begins.

Her clothes itch and she needs new ones. I take a couple of minutes to figure out what the hell she's talking about.

Dress. Leather. Wash. None.

Eventually, under her mutinous gaze, I snap out of my stupor and lean away from my customary position against the wall, next to the entrance.

One foot in, one foot out.

Riddick's still taking his beauty sleep, unstirred, unmoving.

Gwen doesn't flinch any at the sight of his deep gashes – scarring nicely now – intent on towering me into submission. So damn tall, this girl is.

After much toil and frustration on my part, I manage to sneak her some of Lya's spare clothing, a tank top and fatigues and one of Lou'An's old jackets.

* * *

Gwen strips shamelessly in front of me, the leather dress bunching uselessly on the floor. The woman steps gingerly out of it and she disposes of the itching item like others get rid of nuclear waste. Carefully and with calculated movements.

The shock of her nude body has me in a daze. Completely white and hairless, it's eerily androgynous in shape. Definitely not build for breeding. Pleasure must wash over it like water off a duck's back.

Unperturbed, Gwen dons the new clothes methodically, from the bottom up. Belts and buttons are fastened with the precision of a Gama knife. In the end, they cover her as they would a statue. A little stiff around the edges.

She checks herself and then looks up – _down - _at me. In the gathering darkness, her eyes shine like jewels, a string of pearls running down marbled cheeks. There's heavy gold in her neatly braided hair, slung down her right shoulder. It's long enough to fall above her knee. She lifts it imploringly and the smell of rotten flower petals wafts in the dusky quarters. I remember how heavy my own hair felt while walking the long road into nothingness. Figure her trek could use a little trimming as well. I cut it just above her shoulders and the braid untangles prettily around her kittenish face. The rope of hair I just cut off falls like dead weight on the cold metal floor. The only sound is us leaving it there for the maintenance crew to throw away. Mirko doesn't believe in recycling.

* * *

After that, Gwendolen doesn't come to see – or be near Riddick again. She needs people to look after and with Riddick it's difficult. So she turns to Jack, who's been up and about for some time now. She doesn't talk much, but her eyes drink in the world she returned to with a craving I've only seen in newborns. Everything is new to this newfound Jack. Still, I can't stand to be around her. The prospect of her waking up is starkly different from the reality of it. We look at each other briefly when I pass through the corridor, a sign of recognition lighting up her face, before I rush past. I tell myself that later, maybe later I'll stop by and say hi. I never do.

Gwendolen picked up on this pretty fast, I think, but I didn't catch on until she came begging for clothes. Jack's itch.

I know they don't. Yautja came and burned those away when they checked her up for any anomalies. She's been wearing a silvery med-robe ever since, one that reaches her knees and leaves an endless expanse of clumsy legs exposed. I tell Gwen as much, but it doesn't faze her. Then, she must be cold in such an airy garb, Gwen says matter-of-factly.

But the actual fact is that the temperature on board the _Leander _is kept particularly high to accommodate the Preds.

Then, she'll sweat and here Gwen starts prattling off about Jack's delicate immune system and about the many dangers she faces in her condition.

Riddick's monitors beep twice before I have enough and go in search of something for Jack to wear. Gwen tags along, but only until she's clear out of Riddick's med-room. She doesn't want to be alone in there. I don't blame her. Half the time I'm not alone in there either.

* * *

Jack's clothes turn up to be a bit of a tangle. Mine could probably fit her, but the idea is repulsive from the second I think it through.

I don't want her in them.

I don't want them on her.

I'm not sure which, but I'm not about to glance that particular path anyway.

Luckily, this is a smuggler's ship we're on. Helps that he's a whoring bastard too. Ratty bitches turn tail and scatter off when I blast through one of their abodes, but I snatch one just as she's about to duck past. She slams against the hull and the sound is hollow. She claws at me like a furry little caged animal, but I knock her a good one. She spits the blood and a broken tooth right back at me. Fucker pricks, so I gut her in the stomach. She doubles over and to her credit doesn't fall on her sore ass. The elbow on her back gets her though just as Mirko comes storming in the room, hollering a "_What the hell are you doing?_" and cocking his gun at me.

"Stop waving that thing around and strip her down!"

"Fucking hell…"

He lodges a single bullet in his own fucking hull, but I run a one inch concave extrusion blade right through his hand and pull. He's got his very own personalized Spok-stance now. He's also staring at the eyes of his shotgun.

"Undress her. Now. Not too big offa job for you, is it?"

"With a bloody fucking hand?"

The shotgun and his face connect. Hard.

"And a bloody fucking nose."

His insides smolder.

* * *

He did it.

Took him forever and a day, especially after the bitch got her bearings back, but he was quick about ragging her shit up. After that, it was just a matter of hand - to - broken nose coordination. Got me a bonus, too: a clean pair of underwear. Rolled the clothes through the fresher a few times, just to make sure I killed any possible – _probable_ – germs, and then dumped the stack on Gwen's lap, while Jack was staring mutely from the corner. Apparently, Jack was a bit shy about changing attire, 'cause she started fumbling with tights and tanks and even recoiled from Gwendolen's helping hand. I left the room with a startling thought. Maybe I should've stripped Mirko's ass down.

* * *

Jack ends up wearing a jump suit, of all fucking things. Apparently, the bitch wanted her clothes back. I punch my fist into the nearest available surface and ponder the uses of gratuitous violence. Riddick's look of arrogance doesn't leave him even in his sleep.

"You taught her that, you stupid motherfucker!"

The monitors beep mightily at me.

* * *

Surprisingly, one day, soon after that whole mess, Vaako's cot is vacated.

Well, at least that's when I notice the Commander's gone.

Even if she knows something, Gwen says nothing.

His wife's braided hair still dangles softly from the ceiling over a sad, empty bed.

Garreth never came back to get it.

I'm perched on Gwen's old chair, trying to get the trophy down when I catch a glimpse of a familiar view through one of the ship's hallo-screens.

A planet, no bigger than Old Earth, revolving gently around a pale sun.

The Great Green.

Can't remember the name, but that's what they call it in Yautja. It's a young planet: no civilization to speak of, just continents of lush, green jungles. Preds don't like to waste. When they sucked the planet dry of its precious metal, they turned into a Game Preserve.

Built it quite the reputation, too.

Down there, all's fair game.

Nice, safe environment for Preds to turn against each other and their momma. It's a special place. I have some fond memories about it.

My very first spine-rip.

You always remember your first.

Through the hallo-screen, I can see tiny meteors crashing against the planet's atmosphere. Dozens of tiny Yautja pods spewed onto the Great Green, each carrying a precious cargo: the next big hunt. And in one of them, barely on the edge of consciousness, lies Vaako, a red-glowing device attached to his chest – a 'chute, his ticket in. I finger the dead hair in my hand. I pray for his 'chute to open. He deserves that much.

* * *

I'm staring at Riddick's faintly stubbly head, thinking he didn't look half bad all bearded up, when Scar scampers heavily into the room. The wound Til left him still bothers him, I can tell, but when he drags me to face the Great One, he can't suffer enough.

Our Elder is _Zazin_ – totally centred within his self. This close and him being all motionless in the deep meditative trance, I can see the spongy texture to his muscles and the tears in his skin. He really is old, much older than I imagined. The corners of his mouth are unnaturally dry and wrinkled for a Yautja, the dreadlocks on his head so eerily grey. Yautja hair is somehow rubbery to the touch, but his feels frizzled and terse. Though, the rings with the ancient markings of our clan shine through, however dully.

When he opens his eyes, deep set and bead-like, I can see no pupils under the milkish sheen of cataract. Small miracle if he can see anything anymore, but then I notice a small round disc where his temple should be. Vision enhancer, like the ones we have on our hunting masks. The Great One's still keeping it sharp.

I begin to withdraw gently, dropping the dread back in its place, but he seizes my hand and holds it against his rather big head. He smells like mold and his hands feel like it too. The mandibles crackle merrily just as something comes at me from behind and grips my neck into place. I take a swipe at it with my free hand and the blood spurts green, but the other Yautja plays my wrist blades against my veins in a tight grip and I still. The fingers and general anatomy is larger, this much I can tell from the sheer size of the thighs on either side of my body. A female.

The Elder pushes my hand down and the Leading Mother shackles it at my back. Then ever so carefully, the Elder extracts something that looks like a blow-torch with a drill bit attached to it from his medicomp and turns it on. The sound is chilling. I get to feel it as it riffles through my hair, pulling at the roots, twisting and burning the strands into a perfect dreadlock. The blow-torch sears blood and skin and hair until the dread is as rubbery as the Elder's once was.

And all the while, I don't scream. Hard to do with blood pooling in your mouth. When it's over, I gush it all out in his lap. The Elder clicks his mandibles together and lifts my head up, wipes my mouth clean and traces the mark on my forehead with a claw-tipped finger. He's chanting as the Leading Mother chops the dread I was fingering earlier and removes the rings one by one. In her giant hands they sparkle merrily.

Then, again, one by one, with the meticulousness only a Yautja can possess, she attaches them to my dread, one at the root of it, one in the middle and the tiniest one at the end. I huff at her in annoyance, because the feeling is uncomfortable, like someone's poking at your newfound appendage, and I get bitch-slapped for my trouble.

When it's finished and the blood from my broken lip is nothing more than an irritable crust, my hands are released and I slump backwards. The world seems fuzzy around the edges, so I try to focus on the Elder's horny forehead. His mark is deeper than mine and a whole lot more faded.

He cocks his head at me and chirps mildly, like a parent would scold a child. I straighten out of reflex mostly – everything's still a little hazy – and he produces a parchment for me to inspect. It's skin, actually, old Yautja skin, probably cut from somewhere on the back, a very long time ago. The print on it, a tattoo of sorts, is easily distinguishable though. I heard it used to be done in ancient Tribal Times, cutting the tattooed skin off veteran Blooded Warriors, before they rode to Cetanu.

The tat is pretty elaborate, but the overall shape of it is familiar. Two faces, one looking up, one looking down, the Mother and the Hunter, intercut by a horizontal zed-like letter. The mark of our clan.

The Elder clicks his mandibles and hums while pointing at the Hunter.

The words come to my mind unbidden.

We wear the mask to honour him, the God of All Hunts, Lord of the Spear.

_M-di H'chak. M-di H'dlak._

Shows no mercy. Shows no fear.

The Elder chirps softly and points at the Mother.

She, who bears the Hunter. She who bears the Hunted. The Mother of All Hunts.

There cannot be one without the other.

The Elder stares meaningfully at me when I don't react. Wait…What?

The holo-screen behind him zooms in on the Great Green and one of it's jungles and one of it's many totems and on the Yautja tied up to it. A Pred un-cloaks, meaner, leaner looking than the bulkier kind aboard this ship. He sensed the bird sending in the visuals. As we watch, hundreds of thousand kilometers above the Great Green, he slashes the captives head off with a single swing of his blade.

Yep. Clan wars. Big drama.

"You want me to go get him?"

The Elder bares his sharp teeth at me and growls.

"So, you gonna let it slide?"

He grabs me by the throat, but I shove a blade between his mandibles. He hisses and tightens his grip.

I choke. I sense the danger. I know where the Elder's coming from.

"No…!"

Bastards can't have _him._ I'm not going to tap out my problem child just because fuckers can't seem to settle their shit straight.

The Elder flings me across the room, stands up and chortles.

He draws symbols in the air.

Hunter.

Mother.

Echoes in the dark.

"_You must rise now, Survivor girl. You have died for Riddick. It is time you live for him._"

The whispers in the dark.

"_There is __**life**__ waiting for you, little __**Breeder. **__Make us proud."_

_Mother. Hunter. There cannot be one without the other._

I stand up, slithering against the wall and face the Great One square on.

He is old, but I feel brittle. My own anger almost breaks me.

"The end has come. The fight is over."

Keep saying that to yourself, Carolyn. If you don't believe it, no one will.

He dismisses me and Scar steps up.

Yeah, my fight is finished.

My fight for honour.

But…

My fight for life has just begun.

* * *

The dread takes some time getting used to. Gwen is wary of it and Jack eyes it with fascination every time I stop by. I do so incrementally. She's like a drug and I don't want to jump on that hype just yet. Other than that, she's a little wobbly on her feet. Putting one foot in front of the other is a bit of a challenge, but Gwendolen is nothing but a monument of patience.

"Gwen's good for the kid. I think she's a keeper" I tell Riddick one night. Yeah, we're talking now, but I'm the more vocal out of the two of us.

"Lya and Garreth have taking a liking to her too and they don't even like each other that much to agree on anything, really. It's a first."

The beeping monitor is my only answer.

* * *

Talking leads into inevitable fights, as slowly, but surely, my patience runs out.

"So, is this the moment I start praying I go insane? "Cause you sure as hell fucked up sanity for me, Mister!"

There is nothing physically wrong with him, aside from the fact that he will not wake up. Brain activity is normal too and for all intents and purposes he seems to be in deep sleep. The faint bluish pattern on his chest flickers occasionally, pulsating in time with his heartbeats. I've only ever seen a beating heart on a corpse, on a hunting expedition, right before I wrung it out from its body. I remember it struggled vainly for a few seconds, before the luscious red of the bloody muscle went dull.

When I try to touch it, this strangely vibrant organism or what the fuck ever it is, it pricks my fingertips with small charges of energy. Like static. It's not terribly uncomfortable, but as I dig deeper, it floods me with images, voices and light until I let it go.

I snort and leave the room. I need to piss anyway.

* * *

I don't return to Riddick's med-room for at least another day…or whatever passes for a day on this blasted ship. Without the monitors and the Pred rounds to keep tab, I lose track of time. I wander the corridors aimlessly and manage to get lost.

A good excuse for what I'm about to do.

Cloak on, I open a hatch marked _Kainde Thei. _

Hard to kill.

A brand new world unfolds around me. In the perpetual twilight of the _Furyan Colonial_, these people – tall, armed and presumably dangerous – freck through decks and halls and corridors incessantly. Most of them are young with only a few old beasts moving warily about. Their reflexes are sharp, but they are no hunters, no trackers, they sense no danger, not even when I move up to one of them, close enough to open some arteries. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up in warning, but he brushes it off easily and starts picking on a skinny rag-tag of a girl, until she shanks a shiv at him, fast enough to draw some adult attention.

You notice pretty quickly what the deal is with these people. There's a distinct lack of adult males aboard the _Colonial_. The handful of teenagers walk in packs and train with what few of the warriors still linger about. Women of all ages wear shivs and shanks and leather plates. They're geared up as if for war. Come to think of it, with the ratio of men to women being as it is, breeding must be the biggest clusterfuck ever.

Another striking distinction between these people is their coloring. The overwhelming majority are light-skinned and fair-haired in different degrees. Almost none of them have Riddick's facial features or his body build. They're lean and wiry, their eyes blue, green or gray, devoid of the jaguar-like sheen of the shine job. They remind of the wild cats from the equatorial jungles of the Great Green, ready to adapt their vision to changing light conditions. These people are not unfamiliar with the light of a sun.

I wander among them, watching their habits, recording their language that only a handful of people actually use, checking their arsenal – mostly looting from God knows where – gauging their skill with the shiv – no smooth blades for them, but jaggedy, minutely carved from whatever bone or metal they can find. Theirs is not a killing culture, nor a hunting one. Not anymore. They gather and preserve and pass on, clinging to their memories, their collective consciousness, their dead. That's why it's so easy for me to walk swiftly and silently among them, like a ghost. They are never really alone.

* * *

It's about the third or fourth time I walk the rounds of the _Furyan Colonial_ when I feel the telltale shiver of someone watching me. I ignore at first – they're basically riding bitch with a _Wraith Vessel_, what the fuck did they expect – but retrace my steps, nonetheless, to buy some time to think. I'm walking past the galley and I notice a bunch of kids of various ages, gathered around a naturally-balding man wearing a goofy cook's hat to hide the shiny patch of skin atop his head. He's towering monstrously over the little munchkins, yet his manner is gentle. He's explaining the intricacies of rabbit stew like he's uncovering the details of worm-whole theory.

"See this scar here? A rabbit gave it to me. A little bunny rabbit."

A little mutant rabid bunny rabbit maybe. That thing's hideous.

"Don't like rabbits much ever since. But they're good in a stew."

The kids laugh like it's the best joke out there.

Suddenly, the cook produces a brown cottontail– dead bunny rabbit – and lays it gently on its back on the cooking counter. So, he sparred them the killing.

Gently pinching the skin at the loose part in the lower belly, the cook asks with his knife poised for the incision.

"Now, what's the first thing we do when we skin a rabbit?"

"Cut a hole!"

"Big or small?"

"Small!"

"Cut the belly?"

"Noooo!"

"Now what?"

"Pull!"

Awesome cooking club.

When the stew is almost finished and the kids get a taste of the concoction, the cook musses out loud with his silver-grey eyes shinning at me.

"It's tender, isn't it? Home-grown rabbit meat."

A kid nods emphatically, chugging down a morsel of rabid dipped in vegetable sauce.

"Not tough and chewy like a hare's. Got no muscle, just juicy fat. That's what makes the meat so soft."

Kid's lost in culinary bliss. I'm the only one listening.

"It's the captivity that does this to them. Got nowhere to run, so it's almost like they're expecting it. Waiting to be chopped up and boiled in a stew."

That's got the kid's attention. He blinks and mouths around the food he's trying to ingurgitate:

"Wha'?"

"Yeah, yeah, little belly gets fed!"

Cook dives for a tickle and the children start running amok, screaming at the top of their lungs.

"Tickle Monster! Tickle Monster!"

They scamper out of the galley laughing for cover, the cook hot on their heels.

"You little devils! See if you get any seconds!"

It's a rouse. He's laughing as well.

The galley is quiet.

"Tickle_ monster_?"

"They come in all shapes and sizes. Monsters, that they do."

He smacks his hands clean and waves the invisible person over for a bite with cool casualness.

"Want some? It's pretty good, if I dare say so myself."

I sit down on a bar stool and he places a standard-issued metal plate with a steamy back leg drowned in a pool of boiled carrots and mushrooms in front of the moving chair.

I hate carrots.

"They're good for your eye-sight, you know, so stop picking at them."

I uncloak and _glare_ at him.

"Don't need it. 20/20 vision here, pal."

He laughs softly and downs a glass of water.

"Baby blues, huh?"

"You like?"

"They're a dime a dozen around here. But the _look_ you've got in them…don't see much of that anymore."

"Hmm…"

After that, we eat in silence for a while. The stew's quite good, actually.

But he's right. Meat's too soft.

I push the plate away, the rabbit leg half eaten.

He eyes it with a look tinged with sadness.

"I know, an animal is at its best only when it's hunted, right?"

"First rule of Deep Space."

"That rule's there for a reason. Otherwise you run the risk of getting soft in the ass."

He picks at my leftovers and laughs at his own joke.

"One minute you're Roger fucking Rabbit and the next you're bucking white furred does in a cage. It's an interesting life these tiny creatures live down below, you know. They feel safe behind the bars. They eat and sleep and breed. Sometimes they shank a lesser opponent for a good fuck. _Sometimes_, it gets really stellar. Maybe they get lucky enough to top an equal. Leave some marks, earn some scars. But then, they settle."

He spits.

"Fucking bunny rabbits…Inevitably, they settle. And they die. Unforgivable, right?"

"They have a responsibility. Feed the belly. _You know?_"

He knows.

"Lady, I'd take me some respect over responsibility every day with both hands."

Right.

* * *

Joseph tells me he's been the self-proclaimed cook on board the _Colonial_ these past twenty years.

But the fight never ends, he says. That's why Riddick's gonna wake up. So we can start fighting again.

"Go to him. He'll be waiting."

"And you?"

"I'll be waiting here too. He'll come to us in his own time. We're not going anywhere."

No, they're not.

* * *

On my way back the _Leander_ I stumble upon Mirko, all dolled up, with a broken nose and crooked fag. He's escorting our visiting guests – Aereon and her fleshier twin – back to whatever hellhole they crawled out of.

The Elemental looks more three dimensional than when she first came aboard this ship, but still seems a little rattled.

"Got things on your mind, Aereon?"

First time I say her name, I remember Imam, who trusted her so. I remember his God, the one I take so often in vain, I remember his _haji. _

_We are all on the same haji now._

It's time to part ways, Al-Imam.

"I will not see you again" she says.

Her twin stares dumbly.

"Pray that you don't."

A beat.

"I will."

I turn my back and leave first as a sign of good riddance.

But all the while, I'm thinking: Elementals…pray to no God.

Elementals…they calculate.

I speed up, grinning. My step is that much lighter.

* * *

When the _Leander _slows down, I know I'm that much closer to home. The _Kumary _is nearby.

I feel it docking. I feel it in my blood. Every pilot knows its ship. We're linked with an invisible umbilical to our vessels, a chord that thrums _just_ that way when the ship's close.

"_Cap'n, Cap'n. The Kumary is docked and ready for trans-boarding._"

About goddamn fucking time!

Mirko's ships doesn't swing the right way. Shit makes me cranky.

* * *

Gwen and Jack are all packed up, with Garreth shepherding them on.

"Where are we going?" a wide-eyed Jack asks in her whining little girl voice.

"Field trip."

Her eyes grow impossibly wider.

"Yes, yes, real Disneyland shit!" Garreth ushers them down the corridors, while Jack's all excited and telling Gwendolen that she's never been to Disneyland.

I break down in a smile.

This time it's genuine.

* * *

When I stop by to pick up Riddick, he's not there.

He's not there! Bastard's not there!

Fuuuuck!

I reel backwards and turn only to smash my nose against the chest I've been staring at for what must have been months now.

"Lookin' for somethin'?"

"Fuukin' a-hole…Th'fuckin'hurt!"

He's feeling fucking merry now, I bet, I must sound like shit talking from the bottom of the fucking ass gasket.

"Shit! Quick! Look! Am I bleeding?"

He tips my head up and tweaks my nose.

"Nope. You're fine!"

I take a swipe at him, but he dodges artfully. How the hell can he be not sore after months of lying flat on his back?

So not fair.

"We need to go" I somber up. "And you need to shower."

And put some clothes on, while he's at it. It's distracting.

"De-funk and re-rag. Top of my list."

He passes me with a suck-my-ass grin and strolls away.

I stumble after.

One of these days, I swear to fucking God I'm gonna rip his eyes out.

Well…

I'm gonna try to, anyway.

* * *

First thing that greets me on board the _Kumary _is one thing I missed most. One hundred pounds of scales and claws and drooling tongue in my face.

Bob.

"A _hellhound_?"

Bob bares his canines at him and growls territorially.

"A _cute _hellhound. Why? Jealous?"

Riddick locks his shined gaze with Bob's and grins ferally.

"I'll manage."

Bob wags his tail.

Oh, yeah, the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Well, fuck!

"Bob, you traitor."

Man and beast take the lead and walk deeper into the _Kumary._

* * *

Jack's uncomfortable near Bob, but Riddick settles right in. Gwen's a rock, as usual. You can kick her around, move her from place to place and she just rolls and stands up unscathed. She handles Lya's incessant chattering, Garreth's teasing and Jack's glorified childness and habitual wonderment like a pro.

"She's just easy" Riddick says out loud.

"What?"

"Lessen one pain through another. Shit works for her."

He's nursing a cup of tea, propped up against a console. He's got clothes and spiffy new boots and all, courtesy of Mirko Rottentusk. He's even gotten himself a spanking new grooming appliance, all polished and clean: the bone shiv I _misplaced _during the little rumble I had with the Captain in the _Leander's _docking bay a lifetime ago.

His head is all shiny too.

"Whatever…I guess."

He sees me shrugging it off and takes another sip. He smacks his lips afterwards and looks up.

We're currently attached to the belly of the _Furyan Colonial_. Garreth's working on the hatches now, with Joseph on the other end.

"You gonna go up?"

"Later" he drawls.

I feel a little lost.

* * *

He wasn't kidding when he said later.

The _Leander _ghosts off and the Great One's cruiser starbursts soon after, leaving us with a cargo bay full of terra-forming equipment.

I don't count my blessings just yet. The dread still falls heavily down my back, a reminder of a new fight. They'll come back. They always do.

On another note, the passage way to the _Colonial_ is open and in use, but Riddick can't be bothered. Instead, we're having tea and nuked noodles in the galley and he's already refilling his second cup.

"You got a thing against coffee or something?"

I just had to ask, seeing as he all but ignored the coffee machine emanating sweet caffeine aromas. Mornings without coffee on the _Kumary _are beastly.

But he just gulps down some more tea and shrugs.

"Don't trust nothing I can't see through."

Makes sense, I suppose. Must make a mental note to restock our tea supplies then.

I poke at my noodles with the fork and keep at it.

"You've seen Jack yet?"

"She's playing dress up with Gwen. Seems like Captain _sugarplum_ left them a farewell gift."

I look at him and we both laugh into our cups.

"I guess….I guess we did what we set out to do. Right?"

He's silent. I can see his reflection on the surface of my ginger and lemon tea. He's looking at me.

"_What!"_ I snap at him.

"Just pondering the possibilities."

"Of fucking what?"

He grins and slithers shadow-like from the table, heading for the way out.

"Nevermind."

He's gone, his cup half-empty on the table.

* * *

I catch up with him upstairs, after Jack dutifully pointed his direction.

"He went that way!"

"Gwen, watch Jack!"

Bob picks up his scent too, so now we're heading towards the _Colonial. _

The D'jai and Garreth are stationed in the doorway.

"Captain, you gotta come see this."

They've gathered on the main deck, the young, the old and Joseph. Riddick's talking to him, their backs turned to me. It's somehow almost natural to see them stand side by side. Like equals. Like partners. I cloak and rematerialize close to them. From this new vantage point, I can see that the elders of this ship are mostly grey-haired women. Riddick takes a beat to scan the crowd. Looking for something. Or someone.

"Shirah is not here."

Behind me, Lya and Garreth are waving enthusiastically at a pair of male-female twins.

Joseph smiles and says:

"Shirah's holding the fort down for us back on Furya."

"There's no life to speak of back there. How the hell she's doing that?"

All eyes turn to me. Somehow, I feel I just pissed in their collective punchbowl.

"Actually, to be honest, she's not very successful at the moment" Joseph offers indulgently.

"Planet's been purged by the Ascension Protocol so right now _human_ life is not sustainable for long periods of time."

"_Human_ life? What about other type of life?"

Surprisingly, that's Lya cutting in. The twins look mortified.

Lya pays them no mind and starts explaining herself.

"Well, I used to do some terra-forming work back in the day. You wouldn't believe the shit you get to whack on one of these jobs!"

"Somehow I can imagine."

"Got shit we need to whack?" Riddick asks with ever increasing amusement, while in the background, Lya and Garreth are having one of their usual disagreements.

"_When did you ever go terra-forming?_"

"_I did, I did. See, there are things you don't know about me. I'm pretty cool, you know!_"

And so on.

* * *

Joseph and Riddick talk strategy for some time and I start walking away. Nothing left for me to do here.

"Come on, Bob. Let's go check on the kids below."

"_The eccentric orbit's gonna be a bitch on this beast. It's gonna suck us right in. A hell of a nose-dive. But the ship's too heavy in the ass to properly level it out."_

"_Airbreaks?"_

"_Half a century old, they're gonna fold like warm tacos."_

"_Then we ferry it in. Ship stays space side until we lose all extra weight. Salvage what we can and then bring it down."_

"_Life rafts are ….probably…gonna hold, but we haven't got enough experienced pilots and it's a one way trip for the puppies we do have."_

"_I was thinking we use something _bigger_."_

"_You saying you can fly _that_?"_

"_No. But _she _can."_

I stop dead in my tracks and slowly turn around.

"They did train you for that, right, Carolyn?"

Seething anger, I walk back and almost growl at him:

"Ask me nicely."

"Nicely?"

"Fucking nicely!"

"Why don't you teach me how? I'm not quite up to the task."

He's not going to be up for much of anything if he keeps going like this.

"She'll take us there" one of those old hags croaks out. "It is destiny."

"It's humanity. Something you would know squat about. Now, if you're done having your little get together here, Riddick and I have some things to discuss!"

Joseph raises his hands defensively – placating – and I stalk off, Riddick strolling behind me.

Not a breath stirs the air, but blood is boiling up inside me.

* * *

"Stop."

I march on regardless.

"I said just stop."

"FuckYOU!"

My blood is on fire.

"Carolyn…_stop._"

"You barely know these people. And now you wanna hold fucking hands?"

This saddens him.

I rage on.

"You've got what you wanted. One big psycho fuck family! Thousands…just like you! So now what the fuck do you want from me?"

"We're almost there, Carolyn. Others're…"

He chokes.

How human.

"Others're already waitin' for us. But this time you've got to come with. I can't make it easy on you, though."

Approaching, he extends a hand.

"Just give me your hand."

His face is strangely calm. It's the hand that's shaking imperceptibly.

"C'mon. Take my hand and come with me. Make the choice."

I try to move my mouth, but nothing comes out 'cept a strangled sob.

"You've got to make the choice. This time. I can't make it for you."

* * *

A beat. Two beats.

Minutes crashing into each other.

Years. Ten years of loneliness, of perpetual cold. So much time and so willing to sacrifice. Pay your fucking cosmic debts, Carolyn.

_Purge._

And then…

One guy offers you a hand and it feels…

Good.

Clean.

No promises for the future.

No regrets for the past.

You take it.

You survive. You keep going. That's all.

* * *

**A/N2: No actual bunnies were hurt during the writing of this chapter! So, please read and review! Thanks :)**


	34. Chapter 34 A New Life

**A/N: Dear all, thank you for being with me for the seemingly unending journey that has been writing this fic. Alas, all good things – and I hope this wasn't so atrocious – must come to an end. So I give to you the final chapter of **_**Don't you want to try to die.**_** Some things are answered and some are not. But I am planning a collection of oneshots that will hopefully deal with any loose ends. In this chapter will see characters I had introduced somewhere at the beginning. Their story is now complete. But it also features new names that will come up in future projects. I truly hope some of you are still interested:) I would like to thank my faithful readers, some of whom have been with me from the start (HopeK, Maria, Ellie, hobitizk), and all who reviewed and/or added this story to their fav list. You guys kept me going! And don't worry, I'll keep spreading the Riddick/Fry love!**

**So without further ado, here is chapter**** 34 in Jack's POV! As always, enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine!**

They say my new life began on the 27th day of the month of the Burning Skies, in the year the great Wraith Ship, _Kumary_, of Deep Space, entered Furya's misshapen orbit. Once a green and flourishing planet, the lazily revolving giant looked now more like the pock-marked ass end of a backwater galaxy. Of course, my description didn't quite make it in the history books. A lot of the things that happened after we reached Furya got a radical makeover. Everybody likes to remember something pretty about that time, and the toxic wasteland, the fumes and the destruction visible everywhere you looked didn't do much to help with those wishes. At that time, all I could think about was what Riddick told me about wishing and things coming true. He was right. In the wrong way.

After we left the Predator _Mothership_, the joint bodies of the _Kumary_ and the _Furyan Colonial_ plotted course towards home. Whose home, no one was sure of, but we went there nonetheless. We didn't pick a ghost lane this time, although we kept a low profile. Even among the devastated planets of Sol Space, we moved as quiet as little mice. There was a great reverent silence descended upon our little corner of the 'verse that we dared not disturb. Carolyn was on edge and wanting none of it – cruising so close to Helion Prime - but there was no way bending Riddick's agenda. He lived by a code which was hard to understand and easy to misjudge, but Fry seemed to get the gist of it when he showed up one day with a squirrel of a girl and her dark skinned mother tagging sheepishly along, wearing nothing but tattered rags.

Of the woman I had a vague recollection and the girl was not an unfamiliar notion. They brought a dull pain in my chest that was hard to understand, but they all but knocked Fry off her feet. She looked small and lost, sitting on the deck of her own ship, staring at the newcomers with crisp blue eyes. She ghosted off then and I could tell by the crinkling of the cloak that those eyes had turned watery. Laijjun and Ziza were housed on the _Colonial_ and it took awhile before the _Captain _mustered the courage to go see them. She sobbed so loud that night, not even the noise of the running shower could cover it up. I thought Riddick would do something about it, but he stayed away. It was Gwen, tall and ever patient, that picked Fry up, all wet and broken, and got her to bed. The door to her quarters was left open, either because Gwen made it so, or because Fry was too out of it to care, I don't know, but I lay there, propped against the chilly wall of the corridor, straining to hear her breathing. I wanted to comfort her, to say to her _I heard you, Fry, I heard you first_, and apologize for not hearing her sooner, for not trying to understand what she had done and what it had done to her and what that meant for us, the people who flew off _that _planet. I wanted to and yet I didn't, for fear that I wouldn't know how to do it properly.

"Go to her", Gwen said majestically.

I remember raising my knees to my chin and feeling the rough spun of the flight suit with my lips. I thought: _She's always been like this, rough and tough and ready to play in the big boy's league, Captain thanks-for-saving-our-dicks Fry. _

Except she wasn't. When you peeled of the suit and broke through her skin, the way Riddick did, she was just as insecure and frightened as the rest of the women of the human species. Which kinda pissed me off.

"_He _should go to her!"

"Right now that might not be the best course of action." I also heard what the tall woman didn't say…_he's licking his wounds in his own way._

Later that night – when everything aboard the _Kumary_ had settled into a dreamy haze – I tip-toed into the Captain's quarters and I squatted down, next to her bunk. I wiped the hair out of her eyes, marveling at how soft and curly it had become and stared long and hard at the mark on her forehead, a strange looking symbol etched into her flesh for as long as she lived, even more powerful than the scars on her back, that no one really got to see. I patted her head awkwardly, timidly, afraid that if I did it too hard she might break. Her blue eyes were huge on her small face, the only parts of her still clean and clear of any scars. She smiled at me and it transformed her entire body.

"It's alright, sweetheart, I'm not angry with you."

She looked…radiant. Fry of the thousand suns.

"I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry you had to see me like this. It's okay, everything's gonna be okay…"

To whom she was saying that, I'm not sure to this day, but she held my hand tight and got up and she never lay down again without being Fry, the captain of the ship. From that moment on, until the day the light inside her dimmed down, she lived her life for everybody else and never faltered. Selfishly, for a long time, I thought that she failed as a human being, as an individual, but who am I to talk? She had what no one else had managed to keep for very long and somewhere, in the back of my mind, when I let it, it hurt like nothing else ever could. It was the only pain I was to know in my new life, the only speck of darkness that would be there in every happy, bright moment of my existence: to know and see and feel that she would forever have Riddick's untamable interest. To the very end and beyond, he never let got. He held on to her in ways I never thought possible. Riddick was a man who had lived his life for himself. And it was the same self-centered nature that had doomed us all the one that kept Carolyn close and bound to him, in an almost sadistic manner. He took it all from her, all for him and only for him.

But what do I know? I watched it all unfold through tainted glasses from the start. They lived long, and Carolyn longer than she should. I don't pretend to understand what really happened between them and to this day, many, many years after the planet and the eclipse, Riddick has never told me the truth: why did he have us trapped in that cave, why did he come back, what did Carolyn do and why did she save his life? I wanted to know, but like with so many other things, I learned to live without it. Riddick's spirit would never have settled in a place where there was no Fry. And people with unsettled spirits do not live a happy life. Or they do not live at all. He did not die young, Riddick the man. The legend yet breaths. So I guess I should be grateful for that, the great miracle of Fry and her gift of life. And I really, really am.

The people that Fry brought with her – following the _Kumary _ from the deepest corners of the 'verse – also played a big part in the making of our future. Lya and Garreth never left her side and settled on Furya permanently. But they were Wraiths too, so they still did the occasional rounds through Deep Space. Sometimes, Carolyn tagged along. And every time she came back, so would an odd looking ship, with DS dwellers coming to stay on Furya. Life was not great for them outside of the space ports. Some Furyans did not appreciate the company of strangers, of outworlders.

And that was a long battle Riddick fought, one that wore him down more than anything I've ever seen. Maybe because it was the first he didn't fight for himself, but for Carolyn and all the good, honestly self-interested folk that cleaned up the planet, helped expand the ports, who brought commerce and welfare back on ragged old Furya and built a home for themselves faster than the jaded locals. For the doc, Shalimar, who saved so many lives and, more importantly, who brought so many lives into this new world. For Gwendolen the Necromonger, whose faith and loyalty to Riddick and his was never questioned. For Horner the Smuggler, for Tommy the Builder and his red-head Fox of a wife, for Detlev the Voice of the Port, for Ronnie and Rommie and the whole lot of them, Riddick did what he did best. A lot of blood and tears were spilled in that fight, but it's not my place to recount it now. It was the end to Furya's darkest tragedy. It's their story, one Riddick wanted no part in. After all, he was the child that lived. I've always thought that was why he tried so hard to put and end to the _true crime that happened on Furya_. So everybody could live free of its burden. Life is for the living and all that.

The living, those who remained, turned out to be good people in their own right. Some less then others, but that's the way of every world. Most of them settled next to the water – a clear green inner sea that we managed to swipe up early in our terraforming days – and build tall, slim cities with watch-towers soaring high to the skies. They liked the altitude. With the tech DS dwellers managed to smuggle from wherever they came from and the bits and pieces the Colonials had managed to salvage during the years of wandering through space in search of other survivors like them, the independent cities of Furya 2.0 – as some had fondly started to call it – began to grow steadily in power and wealth. It took many years at first, years that we thought would never end, a long, long time when we scraped what we could to make a living in iso-tents and pieced-up bedsits. There were years when the heat was so unbearable, we lived by night and slept through the day in shanty caves, where the humidity sped up a raging bout of epidemics. Many little ones, newborns conceived on the _Furyan Colonial_, were lost during that time. And the ones that did survive had a hard time coming out of the shadows. Even the mildest ray of sun would turn their skins ashen and their naturally shined eyes kept them bound to the shade. I was Shali that changed that. The good Muslim doctor showed up at our doorstep one day in a run-down skiff of all things, with Gus Horner and Ronnie and a healthy dose of medical supplies. The smuggler even brought back a portable rec-station, spiffy new and state-of-the-art.

"And here I thought you'd be a bar rat all your life", Carolyn said to the broad shouldered man with a thick mop of brown hair and twinkly grayish eyes.

"Well, you know, the _Creed_'s no deed if Captain isn't there!"

Gustav 'Gus' Horner opened a new _Creed_ and made lots of credits off other people's greed. But he didn't make it pass the third winter we had on Furya. It wasn't the cold though, it was the ice that did him. Tripped, fell and broke his neck. People always made fun of that and said we has legless that night. I say he was a stinking drunk who had no business walking alone at night in the dead of winter. Ronnie agrees.

Against all odds, Veronica 'Ronnie' of the thousand names, sister to the Captain of the Wraith Ship _Trinian_ – and next in line to be the ruler of her people if anyone ever manages to ghost Lou'An – didn't turn up so bad and, even more surprisingly, she didn't get fed to a pack of wargs by her ever threatening brother. Instead, she took over the 'counter' and to this day she still runs the _Creed _and all of Horner's covert operations. Soon after Gus passed away, Lou'An dropped by – as was his custom and if it weren't for Lya, I'd say he did it solely to annoy Riddick – and plopped a 10 year old girl in Shalimar's dismayed arms and said he's entrusting his baby sister to her. Romm was a quiet child, dark haired and green eyed like her brother. She even had the same aura about her, strong and calm and menacing. Ronnie kept a polite and somewhat frightened distance and let Shali and Lya and Gwen cater to the strange little girl. It was over a glass of schnapps that Ronnie confessed Lou'An had run into trouble back on his home planet after their father died and power factions began to fight for the position of Governor of one of the most powerful settlements in Deep Space. By bringing his sisters to Furya – an unknown planet at the edge of the universe – he was keeping his line of succession safe, as he had no sons of his own.

Rommie – as she was affectionately known by very few people – didn't stay with us for very long. However, time runs slowly on Furya and when Lou'An came back – a little worse for wear and sporting a scar that ran down the left side of his face – the little Romm was a blooming teenager, almost a young adult. And a fearsome one at that, as even Riddick seemed to be uncharacteristically wary of her. She was like no other cute little girl he had ever encountered. But for all the bad in her, she had more good in her tiny frame than most truly good people I knew. Veronica gave up her position as next in line and was superseded by Romm and Lou'An, who got to keep his captaincy and seat in the Wraith ranks instead. Ronnie never left Furya and people are still having a hard time killing Romm off, which makes Lou'An infinitely happy and a permanent guest in the _Creed_'s hotel and services and in the D'jai's bed. His homeworld is one of the select few planet Furya has standing relations with.

Of the other Wraith Captain we know nothing much. The _Leander _has never crossed our space borders and even when we heard rumours of its presence 'verse side, there wasn't anything of relevance to us, so Carolyn decided to let it be. I don't know if she kept any kind of contact with him. She didn't share much of her Hunter life with us. But it was there, nonetheless. She and Riddick and a couple of others – namely Joe and the twins, Gracie and Dawn – disappeared a few times and whether they were still on Furya or some place else, we'll – _I_'ll – never know. Gwen would always get irritated if I asked where they were.

"Be happy when they come back. Honour their return and say nothing else!" she'd say. She never doubted they would come back and I guess that was good enough for me.

The nights Gwen would go all stiff and quiet were bright mooned ones that came regularly for a while. Those were the nights I hated the most. Because I'd be a little girl again, all alone and wallowing in ignorance. Those were the nights the little bits of Kira in me howled louder than before. But I was never to know the smooth weight of a shiv in combat again. I still kept one close though. It is as clean now as it was the day I snatched from Carolyn's toy box – a battered old container of weapons, most of them leftovers and unfinished projects of Riddick's years of isolation. I keep it as a reminder of my personal sacrifices and unfulfilled desires. I keep it safe, I keep it hidden, because its cold blade may have never tasted blood, but it still packs a poisonous bite. I promised myself I wouldn't let regrets and childish fantasies run my life again, but they lingered nevertheless in the back of my mind. We all have some skeletons in the closet and not even the chance of a clean slate can totally wipe that away. There were people in my life though who deserved better from me and I lived by that belief: that whatever happens, all my debts will have been paid and that no matter what, I would not let those who have placed their hopes of love and dreams of a better life in me be disappointed. I would not fail. I'd like to think I didn't. I saw the children of Furya bloom like flowers over ever green pastures. I saw them grow strong and bear the legacy of the small crew on the _Kumary_ and the _Furyan Colonial_ with pride, even when most of them whom I knew passed away with a smile after a lifetime of hardships. I saw that after all the darkness and sadness, still came happiness. And even though I was thrust in this new world without much to cling on, I found my way and walked the straight and narrow until my heart bled.

The final destination, my own personal end journey is not unlike the beginning. I am as alone now in a spotless white med-room as I was when I started this, on a shabby space port, all cramped up in a cryo-tube in the cargo bay of the Hunter-Gratzner all those years ago. But they say it's not the destination that matters, it's the journey. And they might be right for a change. And boy, was it a long journey! These days I wish it would come to its end, so I may slip into the transient reveries of the dead. Tiredness has crept into my world and the suns will set for the last time. Will there be monsters in the dark, waiting for me? I know not. I do know that I'm done running. If there be monsters, let them be quick. I want to die. Let my soul rest and find peace. Don't step up if you can't keep up, Riddick once said. I wasn't really fit for the chase then and I'm tired now. Unsettled spirits lead unsettled lives, but at least I made mine shine with a sliver of happiness. I used to wish for a place where I could start over and I had my wish come true. But it wasn't the place that was faulty the first time round. You carry yourself wherever you go. And that's the difficult part, believe me.

Thus, my story comes to an end. I realize that there are many things I haven't told, either because they are too painful for me to talk about or because it's not my place to tell. Forgive me. I'm not a writer of Chronicles and there are some things I'd like to keep to myself. There are other things I simply do not know or do not remember anymore.

I am old.

I've lived long and I've lived good.

I've never been truly alone.

I've had a good, strong man by my side who has made my days infinitely brighter.

But always…

Always…

I was with Riddick…

To the very end.

_**The End**_


End file.
